


The Worries of a Court

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [50]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Kings (TV 2009), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: America as a monarchy, Disabled!Bucky, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Behavior, Kings AU, M/M, Political Intrigue, Secret Relationship, actually relationships plural, purely for the purposes of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: "Your Majesty." The words are spoken before the messenger is even halfway through the door, but the king freezes anyway, and turns slowly to glare at the young man as he scuttles towards him.
  
  "This is an important council meeting," King George II of America says, a thinly-veiled threat in his voice. "You do not have leave to interrupt me, Private."
  
  "Your Majesty, forgive me, but this is urgent," the messenger insists. "The queen told me to reach you right away."
  
  The king grits his teeth. "What could possibly be so important?" he asks icily. "Has the shelf in the bathroom fallen down again?" This earns him a quiet laugh from his council members, but the private before him only looks more distressed.
  
  "No, Your Majesty, but one of our companies was attacked at the front last night. Nine of our men have been captured by the enemy."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Marvel AU based loosely on the TV show Kings, which I(wilddragonflying) have never seen, but impalagirl has. The show has served as a loose plot guideline, but we've taken liberties with some specifics.
> 
> Please heed the tags; there are multiple displays of blatant and not-so-blatant homophobia.

"Your Majesty." The words are spoken before the messenger is even halfway through the door, but the king freezes anyway, and turns slowly to glare at the young man as he scuttles towards him.

"This is an important council meeting," King George II of America says, a thinly-veiled threat in his voice. "You do not have leave to interrupt me, Private."

"Your Majesty, forgive me, but this is urgent," the messenger insists. "The queen told me to reach you right away."

The king grits his teeth. "What could possibly be so important?" he asks icily. "Has the shelf in the bathroom fallen down again?" This earns him a quiet laugh from his council members, but the private before him only looks more distressed.

"No, Your Majesty, but one of our companies was attacked at the front last night. Nine of our men have been captured by the enemy."

The king sighs, and turns back to his council with a smile. "My wife. The biggest bleeding heart in America." This gets him another gentle titter. "Private, you may tell the queen that while I understand her concern, my policy on hostages has always been clear. No negotiations; no rescue missions. Send word to the families."

"Your Majesty--"

"Did I mumble?"

"No, Your Majesty, but--"

"But _what?_ "

"The unit that was attacked - it was the 107th."

Silence falls like a lead weight, all laughter strangled, and half a heartbeat later the king rounds on the messenger.

"Well what are you just standing there for?" he yells. "Tell the generals at the front to do whatever they have to do; just _get them out!_ "

The messenger has just reached the door when one of the council members stands, his chair legs scraping horrifically across the floor, and draws everyone's attention. "We can't," Nick Fury says. "I appreciate that this is a difficult situation, but you just said it yourself. No negotiations. No rescue missions. We can't go back on that now."

The king's face, beet red with passion, goes suddenly very pale. He sits down heavily in his chair, while Nick addresses the messenger.

"Give the queen the king's original message."

* * *

"All right, boys," Colonel Phillips says, clapping his hands together. "We've just received word from HQ. We're being pulled back from the front within the next few days, which means you can all go home over the weekend and kiss your mommas. I know, I know, I'm so very kind. In the meantime, we've been advised to take extra caution while we're still here. One of the neighbouring units got hit pretty bad last night and some of their men were captured. So just sit tight and keep your heads down and we'll be out of here before you know it."

"Which unit, sir?" The question comes from Corporal Steve Rogers, on his second tour. 

The Colonel frowns, but answers the question. "The 107th, not that it's any of your business," he says. "We're not to go anywhere near them; our orders are to stay put."

Rogers nods, expression carefully neutral. "Understood, sir." There's echoes of agreement from the rest of the unit, as well. 

"Good," Phillips says. "We move out in two days. Business as usual until then."

* * *

Once Steve has a free moment, he seeks out Peggy Carter. "Hey," he says quietly when he finds her in a tent. "I need a favor." 

"A favour?" Peggy asks, a bemused smile on her face. "That sounds ominous."

"Considering it's one that's sure to get me court martialed if I don't get killed, it probably is," Steve answers. "I'm going after those captured men." 

"What?" Peggy demands, grasping Steve's forearm to pull him further into her tent. "Steve, that's ludicrous. Do you have a death wish?"

"Maybe, but I'm not going to just leave them in the hands of the enemy," Steve argues. "I'm one of the best men we have, and I'm good enough at stealth ops that I stand a good chance of getting at least most of them out alive." 

"If you survive, and I have absolutely no confidence that you will, the consequences will be--"

"Worth it," Steve finishes. "If I can save even one man, it'll be worth it. You know the king has abandoned those men; I can't do the same." 

"This isn't your responsibility," Peggy insists, but she already sounds resigned.

"Maybe not, but you know it's the right thing to do," Steve says with a grin. "I just need transport." 

Peggy heaves a heavy sigh. "I'll find Howard."

* * *

Peggy does indeed find Howard Stark, who agrees to fly Steve over enemy lines and drop him as close to the base where the captured men are being held prisoner as he dares; it leaves Steve with a good two miles to cover on foot, but that's better than he'd hoped for. Steve's plan is to do this as stealthily as possible, at least until he finds the prisoners and releases them. 

It's easy enough to follow the supply trucks to the base; when he gets there, he finds it's much smaller than anticipated, which makes things both easier and harder. Easier in that there's fewer places to search and fewer men to avoid, but harder in that it'll be harder for him to stay undetected; it doesn't look like there's a lot of cover in the camp. Steve stays on the fringes, just beyond the light cast by the fires and spotlights as he observes the camp, watching for patrol patterns and trying to figure out where the men are most likely being kept; this can very easily turn into a literal suicide mission if Steve isn't smart about this.

He spends two hours slowly circling the camp; it's obviously a temporary setup, and Steve needs to get a plan in place before they start disassembling it to move. He counts almost twenty men and women in the camp, some patrolling, some stationed as guards, and some doing chores. A quick check shows that he has enough ammo for his 10mm to double-tap everyone with a few bullets left over, and he has the military-issue knife as well, should he need to go hand-to-hand. Steve briefly regrets foregoing the rifle he'd usually carry into missions, then shakes his head at himself; the rifle would have been unwieldy, and more than likely more of a hindrance than a help.

Steve's watch says it's almost three in the morning when he finally makes his first move; thanks to the suppressor he'd palmed before leaving his own base, the first five soldiers go down silently. The next three barely make a quarter turn before they receive their own headshots, and when Steve feels more than hears a bullet whizz past his ear, he reacts off of instinct; he throws himself forward into a roll, ducking behind a tent. As he comes up, he spots another soldier, and quickly dispatches him before chancing a glance around; there are shouts coming from the camp now, and Steve does a mental headcount. There were nineteen soldiers, and he's taken out nine of them now. Only ten more to go.

Steve's current position is not a good place to set up and wait for the soldiers to come to him, so he'll have to go out on the offensive. A quick check of his gun to make sure nothing's getting jammed and to recount ammo - he still has more than enough bullets for the remaining soldiers to share - and Steve pushes himself from his crouch to dart around the side of the tent. He almost barrels straight into the first soldier he encounters, and he has barely enough time to register that it's one of the women before he's bringing his gun up; the bullet goes right between her eyes, and she drops like a sack of potatoes. Steve weaves his way around the clutter in the middle of the camp, taking out soldiers as he goes, but the last two standing guard outside of what has to be the tent the prisoners are being held in stand their ground, and they're more heavily armed than their compatriots, forcing Steve to duck for cover again.

He finds cover this time in what looks like an officer's tent; there is a short locker in one corner with the door hanging open, and Steve doesn't hesitate before using two of his last bullets to shoot the door off of its hinges, picking it up to use as a makeshift shield for his final charge. It's barely as wide as his shoulders, and only covers his torso if he holds it with his arm straight out. "This'll have to do," Steve mutters to himself, taking a moment to breathe deeply and attempt to refocus himself as he draws near the opening to take a look outside. He nearly loses an ear for his trouble, but it's enough to tell him that the two haven't moved. Another two deep breaths, and Steve charges, makeshift shield held at the ready and protecting as much of himself as he can manage. The blond charges straight for the one on the left, barreling into him with enough force to knock him back enough to give Steve just enough time to take out the one to the right before dispatching the one he'd charged.

The camp falls quiet save for Steve's harsh breathing as he stumbles back a couple of steps to brace his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. He makes a round of the camp first to make sure he hasn't missed anyone, as well as gather up some of the ammunition stored in the various tents to replenish his own stock. Now that the enemy soldiers are no longer a concern, Steve heads for the prisoners' tent, unzipping the opening and sticking his head in. "Any of you need a ride?"

All men seem to be present and accounted for, and all seem unharmed, except for the guy in the middle of the group. He has a bandage obscuring one side of his face, a dark, bloody stain over where his eye should be, and - sweet Lord - he's missing an arm. Still, when all the prisoners just stare at Steve, it's this guy who struggles to his feet. "Jesus Christ," he says. "Even I can see what uniform he's wearing." He gives Steve a pained, lopsided grin. "It's about damn time."

"Sorry it took so long," Steve apologizes. "I'm Corporal Steve Rogers, of the 111th. We can use the medical supplies in this camp to redress your wounds before we head out, Sergeant..." The uniform gives the man's rank away, though the label with his last name has been torn off. 

"Bucky," the wounded man says. "Call me Bucky, none of that Sergeant crap. You just saved our lives."

Steve shrugs. "I was close, and I wasn't about to leave you to die. I acted alone, however, so we've got a good hike back to our territory." 

"All right," Bucky says, as the rest of his men get to their feet. "What kind of numbers are we dealing with?"

"None in the camp, can't say for the rest of the territory we need to cover," Steve answers. 

Bucky's eye widens. " _None_ in the camp?"

Steve shrugs. "There were only nineteen to start with, and I'm good with a gun. Medical tent is next door, and we shouldn't waste time. Don't know when another supply truck will show up, and we don't want to be here when it does." 

"All right," Bucky says, nodding. "Let's go."

Steve leads Bucky around to the medical tent while the rest of the former captives scavenge whatever weapons and ammo they can from the camp. "What happened?" Steve asks once they're in the tent. He gathers the supplies he'll need to redress Bucky's wounds. "All we were told was that your unit had been jumped and some of it taken prisoner, and we were to withdraw from the front in the next few days." 

"I don't know," is Bucky's answer. "We were given our orders, we went in, and we got hit pretty bad but we should have been able to handle it, except..."

"Except?" Steve prods as he begins cutting the bandages off of Bucky's shoulder. 

A sharp hiss is the only indication of the pain Bucky must be in; it's a fresh wound, likely suffered when he and his men were captured, but as yet it doesn't look infected. "All our support vanished as soon as the first bullet was fired," he admits. "We were alone."

Steve gives Bucky an apologetic look, but keeps working. "That's really odd," he says. "Sorry, this bit is gonna hurt, the blood has dried the bandage into the wound." 

Bucky grits his teeth and looks away. "Just do it."

Steve rips the bandage off quickly and then efficiently rewraps it; he's no doctor, so unfortunately the shredded skin and muscle and bone is going to have to stay for now. He cleans the wound before rewrapping, but that's all he can do right now to stave off infection. He's about to question Bucky further when the tent's flap is thrown open. "Sir," the private says, voice and expression urgent. "A supply truck is an hour out, they radioed in to report their estimated time of arrival. If we're going, it needs to be now." 

Bucky nods, grim-faced and pale, and slides down off the table Steve told him to sit on with a grunt of pain. "Guess that'll have to do for now."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, already gathering as much of the medical supplies as he can into a bag. "We'll need to leave in the next few minutes; meet in the yard with whatever weapons and ammo you can find and reasonably carry," he adds, speaking to the private. 

"Understood," the private says with a salute. 

* * *

They manage to make it back to camp relatively unscathed, though Bucky is sweating and feverish by the time he and Steve stumble into the medic's tent. Steve all but carried him the last mile, Bucky's remaining arm slung over his shoulders, and Steve looks like he's going to stay with him until Colonel Phillips storms into to the tent and practically drags him out by his ear. The ensuing argument is loud enough to wake the dead, but when the medic gets to work Bucky's screams quickly drown it out.

It's almost dawn when Steve reappears in the opening of the tent they've put Bucky in; he's on his own, and the tent is small and dark, but it's immediately obvious that he's awake. He sighs softly when he sees Steve and struggles to sit up. "Didn't expect to see you again."

"Guess I've imprinted on you," Steve jokes as he helps Bucky sit up. "Like a duckling. How's the shoulder?" 

"Fucked," Bucky says, with feeling. "How's your future in the military?"

"Fucked," Steve echoes with a laugh. "I don't regret it, though. I know the king has a no-rescue policy, but I couldn't just leave you guys there when we weren't even a full day away." 

Bucky sighs, nods. "Well, thanks," he says. "My men deserve better than to die in a place like that, and life as a cripple is better than no life at all, right?"

"I'd think so," Steve answers. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?" 

Bucky shrugs, and then winces. "I don't really remember," he says. "I was fighting, and then... I couldn't. Maybe a grenade."

Steve nods. "Well, this has to be better treatment than you got over there," he says. "Doc think it'll heal okay?" 

"Well, it's not gonna grow back," Bucky says dryly, "but I'm not gonna die, probably."

Steve laughs. "So, what're you - " He's cut off by a ruckus outside the tent, and Steve frowns, glancing at Bucky. "What's that?" 

"I don't know," Bucky says, frowning - but they get their answer when the flap of the tent is ripped open and the goddamn _king_ walks in.

"James! What in God's name happened?"

If it's possible, Bucky pales even further. "Father, I--"

"Your _arm_ ," the king wheezes. He stares for a moment, apparently struck dumb, and then rounds on Steve. "Who the hell are you?"

Steve, who'd gotten to his feet and snapped to attention when the king had walked in, gives a salute. "Corporal Steve Rogers, sir." 

The king's expression softens into one of surprise. "So you're the man who saved my son's life."

"Yes, sir."

The king grins, reaches out to shake Steve's hand. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," he says. "I've already spoken to Colonel Phillips, and you're no longer up for court martial. You're coming with us."

"Father?" Bucky asks, and the king turns to look at him.

"We're going home, son."

And that's when realization really hits Steve like a freight train; he just rescued the _prince._ Not just the prince, but the Crown Prince, James Buchanan Barnes. Holy shit. 

Steve realizes he said that last bit out loud when he gets curious looks. "Sorry," he mutters, the back of his neck heating up. "I just - didn't realize who, exactly, I was saving." 

From the far end of the tent, the Crown Prince of America laughs. "It's okay," he says. "I doubt even my own mother would recognise me right now. When are we leaving?" This last aimed at his father.

"Now," is the king's answer. "If you're able."

"Well, I could definitely benefit from a few hours' sleep--"

"You can sleep on the jet," the king snaps.

Bucky sighs. "Then I'm able," he says. His gaze flickers back to Steve. "Are you good to go?"

Steve nods, still off-balance with the realization of who he _carried into camp._ "Yeah, I'm good." 

"Then let's go," the king says, already halfway out of the tent. "Be ready to leave in half an hour."

When he's gone, Bucky gives Steve a bemused look. "Sorry about him," he says. "You don't have to come with us if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Steve says, frowning slightly; something felt a bit off about the king's attitude, although Steve could just be imagining things. "Is he always like that? That... brusque?"

"He's the king," Bucky says, and that seems to be all he's willing to offer.

It's not an answer, not really, and they both know it, but Steve drops the subject anyway. 

For now, at least. 

* * *

They fly straight from the camp to the royal palace, and as soon as they touch down Bucky is whisked away to hospital while Steve is shown to a room bigger than his mother's entire apartment and left to his own devices. A kindly older gentleman - a _servant_ \- appears after a short while to bring him some breakfast and promises to return periodically with more meals, as well as anything else Steve should require for the duration of his stay, day or night. He also assures Steve that the king will receive him soon, which could mean anything from 'within the hour' to 'within the week' - and then he's left alone once more.

Lunch and dinner are brought to him before anything else happens, and he's just finishing up the latter when there's a soft knock at his door.

Steve puts down the silverware carefully; honestly, he's half-afraid he'll break the fork tines if he sets it down too hard. He gets up and answers the door, blinking at what he finds on the other side. "Hello?" 

Bucky looks different without the bandage obscuring half of his face - a deep but relatively small gash just above his eye is all that remains, held closed with a handful of stitches, and he's clean-shaven now - but the conspicuous absence of his left arm would give him away even if the bright mischief in his eyes did not. His left shoulder is freshly dressed and as yet hasn't bled through the bandage; nothing of the pain he must be in shows when he gives Steve a smile. "Let me guess," he says. "I'm the first person you've seen all day that isn't Reginald."

"I've been afraid to leave the room," Steve confesses, stepping back so Bucky can come in. "You look good, by the way." 

"Thanks," Bucky says, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he takes a seat on the edge of Steve's bed and looks around. "I feel like shit. What about you?"

"Mostly confused," Steve answers as he follows Bucky. "I mean, I get that I saved the prince - which I had no idea you were, by the way - but why am I here?" 

"You won't be for much longer," Bucky says. "My father wanted to thank you formally and give you a title of some kind and send you on your way, but my mother..." He rolls his eyes. "My mother convinced him to make it a much grander affair. Which means that while she takes her sweet time arranging everything, you're free to go."

"I'm still afraid I'll get lost on my way out," Steve laughs. "How long does the queen usually take to arrange these things? And why go to all the fuss?"

"You saved the life of the heir to the throne," Bucky says, so earnest it's clear he mocking the sentiment. "You've got a few weeks at least; do you have family?"

"Just my mom and some friends that might as well be family," Steve answers with a laugh. "Why?"

"You should visit them," Bucky says. "Invite them to the celebrations later. All the transport will be arranged, obviously."

"Well, that's generous," Steve says, tone vaguely sarcastic. "I thought for sure that my ass would be dust by now, considering the king's no-rescue, no-ransom policy."

Bucky laughs. "I think you'll find you were told about our situation for a reason."

"Oh God, not you too," Steve complains. " _Please_ don't get cryptic on me."

"I'm not being cryptic," Bucky says. "I'm just saying, there's one rule for the crown and another for everyone else."

"So what, they were hoping some idiot would go on a suicide mission to rescue you?" Steve asks, unsure of how he feels about how that means all those other captured men and women are left for dead. 

"I don't know," Bucky says. "I wasn't exactly part of the decision-making process. But if you take my advice, you'll suffer whatever party my mother throws in your honour, you'll accept my father's gratitude, and then you'll be on your way."

Steve glances at Bucky, and when he opens his mouth to say something, he does _not_ intend to say, "What if I don't want to just 'be on my way'?"

Bucky searches Steve's face for a long moment, before he gets to his feet. "Then you're a fool," he says softly, not unkindly. "Tell Reginald where it is you want to go, and he'll make all the arrangements for the morning."

Steve sits up a bit straighter, and when he answers he's not looking at Bucky. "Okay. I guess I'll - see you whenever I get back for the ceremony." 

Bucky hesitates at the door, turns back to give Steve a soft smile. "Thank you, again," he says. "I'll look for you at the party. But then, I don't suppose you'll be all that hard to miss."

Steve groans. "Don't remind me; I hate being the center of attention." 

"If it helps, I think it'll be difficult for most people to take their eyes off of this." Bucky gestures to his shoulder.

Steve winces, and an awkward silence falls; he'd... somehow managed to forget that Bucky is now missing an arm. After a few tense moments, it occurs to Steve to ask, "Is there anything special I should be calling you?" 

"What, like Sergeant Barnes?" Bucky asks, grinning. "Prince James?" He shakes his head. "Bucky is what everyone who actually cares to know me calls me. So I guess that's up to you."

"I'd like to call you Bucky."

Bucky grins. "Then I'll see you soon, Steve."

* * *

Steve makes his way back to Brooklyn the next day, and when he walks into the apartment that he still shares with his mother when he's not on a tour, he's literally ambushed. He has no time to prepare before he finds himself with a sniper on his back, toppling him off-balance and forward to faceplant onto the floor. "Steve Rogers, you son of a bastard, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

"Nice to see you, too, Clint," Steve wheezes from where his face is still pressed against the hardwood floor.

"Get off of him, Barton," the stern voice of Sarah Rogers booms from the end of the hall. "I want to kill him myself."

Steve winces as Clint rolls off of his back, 'accidentally' treading on a couple of fingers on his way back onto his feet. Steve pushes himself onto his elbows and gives his mother a guilty look. "Hi, Mom."

"Steven Grant Rogers," Sarah says, striding forward to grasp Steve by the arms and drag him to his feet, "I ought to kick your ass from here to kingdom come." Once he's upright, however, she wastes no time in dragging him into a crushing hug. "But I'm just so glad you're safe."

Steve returns the hug readily. "I know, and I deserve it," he says. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

They stay like that for a long moment, until Sarah draws back and shoves Steve so hard he stumbles back into the wall. "What in God's name were you thinking, charging in there half-cocked after a _prince?!_ Were you so eager for glory that you risked your own _life_ for someone you've never met?"

"I didn't know he was the prince!" Steve protests. "Nobody besides the officers knew what unit he was in! I heard that a unit not even half a day's march from us had been attacked and nine soldiers captured, and they were still close, and we were being ordered to fall back! We were told we were going _home._ How could I have come back here and looked you in the eye knowing that I left those men and women to die?"

"But to go in _alone?_ " Sarah demands.

"You've got to admit," Sam says, as he emerges from the kitchen. "That was really stupid."

"Yes, it was," Steve concedes, because it really, _really_ was, "but I didn't want to get anyone else in trouble. I figured I'd get court martialed and kicked out of the army even if I was successful; the rest of my unit was happy accepting their orders."

"So is that what's happened?" Sarah asks. "Have you been court martialed?"

Steve sighs. "Apparently, there's 'one rule for the crown, one for everyone else,'" he quotes, just a little bitterly. "No, I haven't been court martialed - I'm being promoted. The queen wants to have some big ceremony, but that's going to be in a couple of weeks."

Sarah blinks, while Sam comes forward to clap Steve on the back. "You're one lucky bastard, Rogers, you know that?"

Steve laughs. "Well, maybe," he says. "The prince - Bucky - lost an arm, almost lost an eye, too. I did get to spend a night in the castle, though."

"Holy shit," Sam murmurs.

Sarah doesn't look moved, though. "So when's this party?"

"And do we get to come?" Sam asks.

"Yes, you get to come," Steve says with a grin. "No bows, Clint."

"Killjoy," Clint mutters, disappearing into the kitchen in search of snacks. "Congrats on saving the hottest guy in the country, though."

"He is remarkably beautiful," Sam agrees. "Shame he's the heir to the throne."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You guys are shameless. He wasn't the only soldier I rescued, and I didn't even do it for him, remember?"

"Well why not cash in on it anyway?" Sam asks. "In whatever way you can."

"Enough," Sarah says, amusement in her eyes. "It's probably treason to talk about the Crown Prince like that."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, I managed to avoid being court martialed, I'd like to avoid being arrested," he says, still grinning. "Wouldn't mind going on a date with him, but I really don't think he likes guys."

"You're probably right," Sam says, sounding disappointed. "The press loves a royal scandal; we'd have heard about it by now."

"Yeah, we would have," Steve agrees. "He's a good guy, was grateful for me saving his and his men's lives, but that's all there is to it."

"It won't matter once all of this is over with," Sarah says. "You'll never see him again."

Steve nods, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest; it's not like he hadn't known that. "Yeah, except on the television."

Sarah smiles at him. "Come on," she says. "There's food, if Clint hasn't eaten it all."

That gets a chuckle. "Better beat him to it, then."

* * *

Back at the royal palace almost a month later, the party has become a banquet and a ball, and it's due to take place tomorrow. Bucky finds his mother and his sister in the ballroom, discussing the final arrangements, and moves swiftly to their sides to kiss first the queen and then Rebecca on the cheek.

"Bucky," Rebecca says, grinning. "What do you think?"

Bucky makes a point of looking around the room. "I think Steve won't know what to do with himself," he says. "He is only a commoner, you know, Mother. Is so much effort really necessary?"

"Oh hush, you," Queen Winifred scolds, but she's smiling nonetheless. "He _did_ save your life, baby. And the lives of eight of your men, _by himself._ The effort is absolutely necessary, and don't think I haven't noticed you slacking. That ends tonight, by the way."

Bucky groans. "I'm walking wounded," he says. "What could I possibly do?"

"You," Winifred says, prodding her son in his good shoulder, "are going to teach that 'commoner' how to behave. He's a smart man, has to be to survive a solo mission like that, but he'll need a teacher, and both Rebecca and myself are far too busy with the final preparations." 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says. "When does he arrive?"

"He, his mother, and a friend will be arriving in about four hours. Rebecca, darling, hand me that notepad, would you?"

Rebecca obliges, while Bucky's mind boggles. "And who's taking care of his mother and his friend?" he demands. "Or am I just supposed to give a crash course in etiquette to all three?"

"Don't be silly; Reginald and Mary will help them, but they won't be in the public eye so much," his mother says dismissively, jotting down some instructions on the notepad. "Here, take these to the tailor; she already has Roger's measurements, and we've provided general outfits for his guests to have fitted when they arrive." 

Bucky sighs and takes the paper. "Anything for you, Mother."

Rebecca giggles.

"Don't laugh at your brother," the queen scolds. "Have you finished speaking with the decorator?" 

"Yes," Rebecca says, exchanging an amused look with Bucky. "Everything's in order, but you still need to finalise the dessert menu with Cook."

"Okay, good work," the queen says, moving to drop a kiss to Rebecca's cheek. "And you," she adds, turning to Bucky, "be nice to the man who rescued you. I love you, but I have to run, make sure everything is in place for tomorrow." 

Bucky watches his mother go, and then turns to grin at Rebecca. "How insufferable has she been, honestly?" he asks.

"Oh my _God,_ " Rebecca groans. "So insufferable, you're lucky you've been busy with other stuff." 

Bucky gives her a sympathetic look. "Is this thing tomorrow going to be horrible?"

"No, it'll be great," Rebecca says. "Assuming Mother won't be sending me running here and there and every which way making sure everything is perfect.”

"I'm sure you'll get a chance to enjoy the festivities," Bucky says, "and if not then just give all your duties to me. You haven't met Steve yet, have you?"

"No," Rebecca says, interested. "What's he like?" 

"He's nice," Bucky says. "Kind. Brave to the point of idiocy."

"Well anyone could tell me that," Rebecca complains. 

Bucky laughs. "What do you want to know?"

Rebecca sighs. "I don't know, I was hoping you'd have some more unique insight." 

Bucky shrugs, but he's thinking. "He's really moral," he says after a moment. "Too good to associate with the likes of us."

Rebecca looks at Bucky oddly. "What makes you think that?" 

"I think he'd actually rather be court martialed than attend this ball tomorrow."

Rebecca laughs. "Really? Uncomfortable with the lime light?" 

"Uncomfortable with the fact that the only reason he isn't being hung out to dry is because he rescued royalty."

Rebecca grimaces. "Yeah, I could see that." 

Bucky sighs. "Well, he won't have to worry about it after tomorrow," he says. "Father will send him on his way with a new title and that will be the end of that."

"You don't want him to just up and vanish," Rebecca guesses. 

Bucky shrugs again. "That's his decision," he says. "It'd be better for him if he did."

"I suppose," Rebecca muses, eyeing Bucky contemplatively. "He was rather handsome, though. And it is boring seeing the same faces all the time." 

Bucky's expression becomes one of careful composure, and he gives his sister a tight smile. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

* * *

Steve arrives right on time, and Bucky has Reginald show him to the room they gave him last time before whisking Steve's friend and mother off to rooms of their own. Bucky drags his feet a little but ultimately only makes Steve wait twenty minutes before knocking on his door.

Steve answers it promptly, grinning when he sees who it is. "Hey," he says, stepping back out of the doorway. "It's good to see you; how's the shoulder?" 

"Doing good," Bucky says, grinning back. The left sleeve of his black button down is pinned up neatly around his shoulder, and he doesn't look to be in pain. "Still hasn't grown back, though. How are you? How was your time at home?"

"Good," Steve replies. "Even better without having to tell them I got kicked out of the army. What're you doing here, just being a good host?" 

"The queen sent me to make sure you're prepared for tomorrow," Bucky answers. "Have you ever been to a royal banquet before? Or to a ball?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Is that a serious question?" 

Bucky laughs. "All right," he says, "let's start simple. What have you brought to wear tomorrow?"

Steve gestures to where his nicest suit is still in its dry cleaning bag... from a year ago. "It's a year old, but the measurements are still good. I think." 

Bucky just shakes his head. "This is a royal banquet," he repeats. "We need better than 'a year old' and 'I think'. Check the closet."

Steve frowns. "Why should I check the closet? It'll just be empty." 

"Trust me, won't you?"

"Fine, but if a monster jumps out I'm sacrificing you and running."

"Deal."

Steve huffs, still not entirely satisfied, but when he opens the closet doors, he blinks. "Um." Well, there's no monster, but Steve's not sure _what_ he's looking at. "What is all of this?" 

Bucky moves to Steve's side so he can point. "Two dress shirts and two pairs of dress shoes, all your size; tie - that's one of mine - bow tie; stuff for your hair; a small bag of cosmetics, but don't worry, we have people to help you with that. Even a complimentary bathrobe, in case you decide to go wandering and happen across any of our other guests." He glances at Steve. "You'll be expected to change between the banquet and the ball; your suit for the press conference and the banquet and your tuxedo for the ball are currently with the tailor."

"Oh my God," Steve mutters, staring at the outfits with a slack jaw. "Seriously?" 

"Yep," Bucky says. "The pains of associating with royalty."

"Great," Steve says faintly. "How the fuck am I supposed to survive tomorrow?" 

"You'll be fine," Bucky says, warmly, like he means it. "You'll be briefed by my father's people on how to handle the press conference and what to talk about to the other guests. You just have to eat at the banquet - use the cutlery from the outside in, and never rest your elbows on the table - and at the ball, all you have to do is dance."

"Great!" Steve says, sarcasm all but dripping from his voice. "That'll be perfectly fine, it's not like I've literally broken feet before while dancing." 

Bucky's face blanches. "What? You can't _dance?_ "

"Unless I'm fighting someone at the same time, then no."

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. His mother should have sent for Steve a week early, not a day. "Okay," he says. "Take your shoes off and put these on." He reaches into the bottom of the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of dress shoes and holds them out to Steve.

Steve eyes the shoes like they've grown teeth. "Why?" 

"Because you can't learn to dance in _sneakers_."

Steve blinks. "You're... going to teach me how to dance," he says, stalling for time. He really doesn't want to tread on the prince's feet and possibly break a toe. 

Bucky smiles, apparently reading his thoughts. "I'm a great dancer," he promises, his voice low. "You're in safe hands with me, I promise. Or, hand."

That doesn't really do anything to reassure Steve. "Am I going to be dancing with you all night? That might set some tongues wagging." 

"Of course not," Bucky says, a slight edge to his voice that doesn't show in his face. "But once I'm through with you you'll be able to dance with anyone."

"Right," Steve says awkwardly, feeling like he's overstepped some boundary he didn't know existed. "So, uh - what do I have to do?" 

"Come here," Bucky says, all tension forgotten. "I'm going to teach you how to lead, because that's what'll be expected of you. So, take my waist with your right hand - you'll have to pretend my left hand is on your shoulder - and take my right hand with your left."

Steve follows the orders he's been given, though he leaves far too much space between them. "What now?" 

"Closer," Bucky says, shuffling into Steve's space. They're of a height, so when Bucky looks up their faces are really close together, and he gets lost for a moment in the blue of Steve's eyes. "Okay," he continues after a second. "The waltz is really easy; you just walk in a box shape. So step forward with your left foot, and I'll go back with my right. Ready? One, two--"

Steve holds his breath for the first two beats, and when he doesn't immediately step on Bucky, he decides that looking down and watching where his feet are going is the better move. 

It would have been, if he'd remembered to lean back before ducking his head. 

Their heads collide with a _crack_ , and Bucky cries out as he stumbles out of Steve's arms. "Holy shit," he says, but he's laughing. "You weren't kidding, huh?"

"Shit, fuck - I'm sorry," Steve stammers, steadying Bucky. "I'm sorry, that - God, I hope that isn't going to bruise." 

Bucky just grins. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Even if it does, that's what the cosmetics are for. Come on; try again. And don't look at your feet."

"You _want_ me to step on your feet, don't you?" Steve asks with a laugh. 

"The more you worry about it, the more likely you are to do it," Bucky says with confidence. "Just feel it. Come on. Forward on your left foot."

"Is it okay to shuffle?" Steve jokes. "You really think I'll need to dance?" 

"You're the guest of honour," Bucky says, tugging Steve into the next step. "You'll definitely be expected to dance with my sister, and probably my mother."

" _What?_ " Steve yelps, tripping over his own feet; he's not sure how he manages to keep from completing the trip to the floor, but he does. "I'm going to have to dance with the Queen?"

"Not if you don't get your shit together," Bucky laughs.

"And that's supposed to motivate me to do anything other than slack?"

"I will take you to the ballroom and let you step all over the prince's feet in front of her if you're not careful."

Steve gapes at Bucky. "Don't you dare!” 

Bucky grins. "Stop ordering me around and do as I say and you won't have to find out."

Steve shakes his head. "I'm regretting rescuing you now." 

Bucky gives up arguing and just pulls Steve around the room for a few turns. "You're getting there," he says when they pause, pointedly ignoring the searing pain in his right foot where Steve just stepped on it. "Maybe you won't make me ashamed to be seen with you at this party after all."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the attempted cheer-up." 

Bucky laughs. "You almost had it that time. Hold me just a little closer and let's try again."

Steve mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but does as Bucky asks, tugging the brunette closer. "Okay, show me one more time?" 

"Forward with your left," Bucky says, even as he steps back with his right. "Now right with your right, feet together." They move, and Bucky beams at Steve. "Now back with your right, left, together."

Steve repeats the instructions to himself in a mutter as he follows them; when he and Bucky are back to their starting position, he looks at Bucky quizzically. "And that's it?" 

"Pretty much," Bucky says. "You can move a bit, turn like we did before so you move around the room, but your footwork stays the same."

"Okay," Steve says doubtfully. "What about music?" 

"We can find you some music after dinner," Bucky promises. "Again."

Steve blows out a breath. "Okay," he says and starts leading Bucky into another round of the room.

They spend another half hour at it, and by the time there's a soft knock at the door Steve has finally got the hang of it. Bucky answers, flushed and happy, and grins when he sees Reginald outside. "Your Highness," he says politely, "the queen sent me to see if Corporal Rogers would be dining with the family tonight, or if he would prepare to take the meal in his room."

Steve's eyes widen, and he looks at Bucky, panicked. "I don't know?" 

Bucky laughs. "Have a table set up in my rooms," he tells Reginald. "Invite Mrs Rogers, and..." He glances back at Steve. "What was your friend's name?"

"Sam," Steve supplies. "Sam Wilson." 

"And Mr Wilson," Bucky finishes. "Tell them they're perfectly welcome to eat where they choose, but that they can join us if they wish."

Reginald inclines his head. "Very good, Your Highness," he says, and bows out of the room.

Once he's gone Bucky turns to Steve. "Was that okay?"

Steve's looking at Bucky like he's never seen him before. "That was - Mom's going to be over the moon, if you don't give her a heart attack first." 

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks, bemused.

"For the late notice," Steve laughs. "She wasn't expecting anything but the banquet, and she won't want to wear the same thing to eat with you and then there tomorrow." 

"She, uhh, won't need to worry about that," Bucky says, sounding suddenly sheepish for the first time since Steve's known him. "The tailor's been given her measurements, too."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "The tailor. The same tailor that is making my outfit? Did that tailor also get Sam's measurements?" 

"My mother is... very thorough," Bucky says, already heading for the door. "But I'll catch Reginald and make sure they know to come as they are - they don't need to go to any effort for me."

Steve grins. "Thanks; then she'll only be worrying about making a good impression on royalty." 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but disappears without another word. Steve can hear his footsteps literally running down the hall, and then the low murmur of voices; he returns moments later. "That's if they even agree to come," he muses as he closes the door behind him. "I just thought it would be less pressure than having to eat with the king and queen." He grins. "And good practice."

"Good practice for the banquet, you mean?" Steve says with a grin. 

"Exactly," Bucky says. "I can't correct your table manners if I haven't seen them."

"You're gonna be doing a lot of correcting," Steve laughs. 

"Well, we've got a bit of time before then," Bucky says, beckoning Steve closer. "Once more with feeling."

Steve groans, but obediently settling his left hand on Bucky's waist and taking the prince's right hand in his. "Fine, tyrant. Is this what the country has to look forward to?" 

Bucky grins. "Absolutely."

* * *

Steve is pretty much as good as he's going to get by this point, but Bucky keeps them dancing anyway. Steve's gotten used to holding Bucky close, flush against him, and he moves with far more grace than any of the other men Bucky has danced with - not that he's ever been waltzing with them. It's nice, and once Steve manages to stop counting in his head, they're even able to enjoy quiet conversation as Steve spins them around the room.

He's getting confident now, and Bucky's laughing when Steve releases his waist and extends his arm for Bucky to twirl under, and he does it, because why the hell not? He's letting Steve pull him back into his arms when someone knocks at the door and Bucky, expecting Reginald, calls for the visitor to enter. He's not prepared for his sister to walk into the room.

"Oh," Rebecca says, surprised. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still practicing." 

"That's okay," Bucky says, barely showing any discomfort as he steps back from Steve. "We were mostly done, anyway. What's up?"

"Oh, I just wanted to ask you if you'd taken the old journal that was just brought to the library," Rebecca answers, giving Steve a smile that the soldier shyly returns. "You know, the one written by that one historian you're always quoting." 

"You mean Terry Pratchett?" Bucky asks flatly. "It's in my rooms. Did you want to read it?"

"No, the librarian was looking for it, I'll let her know you've got it," Rebecca replies with a sunny smile. "I'll let you finish your dance now; have fun!" 

Once the door shuts behind her, Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. "That's your sister, huh?" 

"Yep, that's Rebecca," Bucky says. "She thinks she's so subtle."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Subtle about?" 

"Wanting to meet you," Bucky says with a smile. "Everyone does. But there'll be plenty of time for that at the ball."

Steve groans, burying his face in his hands. "Don't remind me." 

"Don't worry about it," Bucky says warmly. "You've got this."

Steve sighs. "I really don't know, Buck - what if I slip up? I'd hate to step on your mom's expensive shoes." 

Bucky flushes lightly at the new nickname, a soft smile playing about his lips. "You won't actually be dancing with the queen," he says. "Just Rebecca and some of the guests."

"Well, Rebecca's still the princess," Steve argues. "And all of these guests are probably going to be important."

"You haven't stepped on me in an hour, Steve," Bucky points out.

"Well, that's you, and there's no pressure here! At the ball, there's going to be cameras, and God knows how many people watching, and they're all going to expect me to be able to at least not literally step on toes, and I've always had issues with stage fright - "

"Hey," Bucky interrupts him, stepping in close to rest a hand on his arm. "It's going to be fine. If you really don't want to dance, we'll say you've hurt your leg and you can't. Okay? But I think you can do this."

Steve blows out a breath. "Right, yeah," he mutters. "It's not until tomorrow night, anyway - plenty of time to come up with an excuse."

Bucky smiles. "We can practice before the banquet if you'd like."

"That'd be great," Steve says, and he'd be embarrassed about how relieved he sounds if he wasn't so worried about fucking up in front of the whole country. Whatever he's about to say next is interrupted by his stomach growling, and he laughs. "Sorry, I haven't had anything to eat in a while."

Bucky chuckles. "Dinner will be ready soon," he says. "We could head over to my rooms now."

Steve grins. "That sounds great."

* * *

Bucky's rooms could be an apartment all by themselves; there's a sizeable living area, a bathroom, a study and a bedroom, and the decor is simple and modern, classy and sleek. Steve gets the grand tour of everything besides the bedroom and then Bucky invites him to sit at the small dining table that's been set up in the middle of the lounge. Reginald informed them that dinner is almost ready halfway through the tour, and that their other guests are on their way. Bucky settles himself across from Steve, and smiles. "You nervous?"

"What's there to be nervous about?" Steve asks with a nervous grin. "I'm only having dinner in the Crown Prince's rooms."

"Remember what I told you about the cutlery?" Bucky asks. "And your elbows?"

Steve snatches his arms away from the table guiltily. "Yes?"

Bucky smiles. "Then you'll be fine."

Steve groans. "I will be glad when this is over; how do you deal with all of these rules every day?" 

"I grew up with it, y'know?" Bucky says with a conspiratorial grin. "But it's boring as shit."

Steve laughs. "I don't know how it could be boring, with so many rules and customs and shit to remember." 

"Well, luckily for you you'll never have to find out," Bucky says, but he sounds just a touch regretful.

Steve's about to comment on Bucky's tone, but then there's a knock on the door, and Reginald is announcing Sarah Rogers and Sam Wilson; Steve jumps to his feet, a grin on his face as he walks over to give his mom a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Mom." 

Sarah returns both the sentiment and the kiss before turning to Bucky. "Thank you for inviting us for dinner, Your Highness."

"Oh, Bucky, please," Bucky says, rising to shake Sarah's and Sam's hands. "It's my pleasure. I thought it might be slightly less pressure than having to eat with the queen."

"Only a little," Sam says with a grin. "I gotta ask, what was it like to be rescued by him? Normally I'm the one hauling his butt out of danger." 

"Can't complain," Bucky says, grinning. "He was perfectly competent, obviously."

"Be honest, if it'd been his fault you lost the arm, would he be dead now?"

" _Sam,_ " Steve hisses. 

"It's all right," Bucky says. "But I honestly couldn't say."

"I'd probably at least be in prison," Steve says. "Come on, let's talk about something other than my theoretical imprisonment, okay?" 

Sarah is quick to come to his aid. "Is that an original Picasso?" she asks, pointing to a painting just behind Steve.

Bucky follows her gaze and laughs. "No," he says, "but _that's_ an original van Gogh."

"Wait, really?" Steve asks, immediately distracted. "How long have you had it?" 

"Most of my life," Bucky answers. "A lot of the 'originals' in galleries and museums aren't actually the real thing."

"Damn," Steve says appreciatively. "I'd give my left arm to - "

"Yeah?" Bucky interrupts, perking up. "You like art?"

And apparently they were going to ignore Steve's blunder there. That suits him just fine. "Yeah, I've always loved art."

"Steve's actually a bit of an artist himself," Sam chimes in.

"I'm not that good," Steve says modestly.

"Well, considering that I gave my left arm for much less," Bucky says cheerfully, "you see anything you want, just let me know."

Or not ignoring it, that's cool, too. Steve flushes and stammers a bit as he answers, "No, that's - I couldn't just _ask_ for something like that. It's fine, I - "

Sam takes pity on him. "I'm starving," he announces, and Steve makes a note to buy the man a gift basket. "Aren't we here to eat?"

"We are," Bucky agrees, moving towards the door. "I'll see if I can track down Reginald. Help yourselves to the wine."

"Thanks," Steve says with a smile.

Bucky finds Reginald and they're served dinner in short order; it's nothing anywhere near as elaborate as the banquet will be, but the food is delicious. They're just getting started on dessert when Reginald announces the queen's arrival. Steve almost chokes, and Sam gives him a helpful thump on the back; the queen gives Steve an amused look as she comes around the table. "James, you look good tonight - you all do," she adds, looking around the table. 

"Easy, Mother," Bucky says, watching Sarah Rogers' face flame out of the corner of his eye. "I told them to come as they are. There's no need for airs and graces here."

"Oh, hush; I'm just complimenting them," the queen says dismissively. "Winifred Barnes, it's a pleasure to meet you all." 

"And you, Your Majesty," Mrs Rogers says, getting belatedly to her feet. "Thank you so much for inviting us to the palace, and for honouring Steve like this."

"It's nothing," Winifred assures Sarah. "The least we could do for him saving our son; I just wish the king hadn't pushed through that no-rescue policy. My son's unit shouldn't be the only one that gets to come home after something like that." 

"I agree," Bucky says, looking at Steve. "Maybe we should petition him to waive the policy altogether."

Steve considers it. "I don't know," he says slowly. "Would he even think about it?" 

"It'd be put before him and the council," Bucky says, "so he'd have to."

"It's something to think about," Sam says. "I've pulled lots of our boys from sticky situations, but that was before they were actually captured. There are a lot more we couldn't reach in time." 

Bucky nods. "What do you think, Mother?"

Winifred taps her chin thoughtfully. "It could go either way," she says finally. "It's worth a try." 

"Good point," Steve says. "I've never understood why it was a policy in the first place; maybe if enough people question it, it'll get repealed or whatever."

Bucky smiles. "Well, we can only try," he says. "Mother, was there something you needed?"

"Only what Rebecca needed; I'm just not hiding behind an excuse," the queen says with a laugh. "I wanted to meet our guests before the ball, in a more relaxed setting." 

"Do you want to join us for dessert?" Bucky asks.

"I'd love to," Winifred answers, smiling at her son; it's clear she loves him from the expression on her face, and that's what fully convinces Steve that their petition is needed. How many mothers will never get to look at their children that way again?

* * *

They all say goodnight soon after the dessert things have been cleared away; the queen insists that they're going to need all the rest they can get for tomorrow. After that, Bucky doesn't see Steve again until the press conference; Steve is looking dapper in the suit the tailor provided and waiting in the wings for his turn to speak while Bucky stands beside his mother, both there to support the king. Bucky catches Steve's eye right before the cameras start rolling and gives him a little wave, and then the eyes of the entire country are on them and they both have to look like they give a shit what the king is saying. For Steve's part, it's probably true.

"Members of the press, citizens of America," George Barnes II begins. "I have called this conference today to honour a man whose incredible bravery, remarkable skill and somewhat concerning disregard for authority--" A light titter rolls through the crowd of assembled journalists. "--led to the rescue and safe return of my beloved son and heir, Prince James. You are also here today so that I can explain the developments in the war that have come about as a result of this man's actions." Pause for dramatic effect. "The enemy have agreed to a ceasefire, effective immediately, and have consented to opening negotiations towards a peace treaty." The crowd explodes. The king waits for it to die down before continuing. "Now, you all know this man to be a corporal, but I think such achievements merit a promotion. And so without further ado, I give you Captain Steve Rogers."

And that's Steve's cue; the blond straightens his shoulders and channels every bit of military experience he can muster as he crosses the stage to the king's side, accepting the decorations that mark his new rank. It's a good thing he's not expected to look off of the stage and towards the crowd, otherwise the flashes of the cameras would surely blind him. Eventually, however, the dreaded moment arrives, and Steve is gestured to the podium, expected to give some kind of speech. 

"Thank you, Your Majesty," is what he opens with. "I didn't set out on the rescue with the intention of earning a promotion; I fully expected to be disgraced and kicked out of the army for disobeying such an enormous order. I had no idea who was in the captured men and women, that I was setting out to rescue royalty; all I knew was that they were close, and my unit was being ordered to fall back. We were told we were going home, and I couldn't leave the captured soldiers behind when help was so close. It certainly wasn't the first time I went into a situation knowing I was going to get reprimanded and quite possibly punished; it probably won't be the last. I've always been the kid who couldn't just stand by, even when I was barely a third the weight and height of those I was standing up to. 

"If given the option to do this all over again, I would still make the same choices - even if it meant my discharge from the army. We are told in training that those training with us are our brothers and sisters in arms, our new family - and we are fighting for the family we all belong to, our country. Families fight amongst themselves, but they also fight for each other. I'm honored that I was given the chance to fight for my family, and that that has helped lead to what could hopefully be the beginnings of peace. Thank you."

Again the crowd erupts, and Bucky gives Steve a proud smile as journalists begin to clamour for his attention. "Let's hear it for Captain America," he mutters to his mother, and immediately regrets it.

"Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!"

"Would you say that you could be described as Captain America, Captain Rogers?"

"Captain America?"

"Captain America!"

" _Captain America!_ "

The king shoots Bucky a look as he rescues a stammering Steve, taking care of wrapping up the press conference as Steve returns backstage. "Oh my God," he mutters to Sam, who's waiting for him. "Did he have to say that?" 

Sam just laughs. "You're gonna get eaten alive."

Steve groans. "I hate him; is it too late to ship him back over the border?" 

Sam grins and lowers his voice. "Is that any way to talk about the guy you've been mooning over since you met him?"

Steve's face flushes a brilliant scarlet. "Shut up," he hisses. "I haven't been _mooning._ " 

"You sure about that?" Sam asks, all kinds of smug, buthe lets it drop. "Come on. It looks like they're about done here and we've got a banquet to get to."

Steve groans again. "This is going to go horribly." 

Sam's grin brightens. "Yup."

* * *

It doesn't go _horribly,_ but Sam, Sarah, the queen, and Bucky all have a good laugh at how many times Steve accidentally treads on Rebecca's foot. Later, it's the queen who shifts the tone of the conversation after the hero and the princess's second turn around the floor. "They do make a lovely couple, don't they?" 

The exact same thought has just been crossing Bucky's mind, and so he nearly chokes on his champagne when the queen gives voice to it. "I suppose so," he says once he's regained his composure, his tone very carefully mild. "But it doesn't particularly matter."

"Oh, I don't know," the queen says thoughtfully. "If there were any interest..." 

"He's got no reason to stay at court," Bucky says, perhaps a little too quickly. "He'll probably be back on active duty by next week."

"Not if he doesn't want to be," the queen says confidently. "If he wants to stay here, I'm sure we could find _some_ use for him." 

"You'd never get it past Father," Bucky points out. "For all that he's praising him today, Steve did essentially make him look bad."

Winifred waves a hand with the dismissive air of someone used to getting their way. "I can be very persuasive, and you know your father is growing impatient with Rebecca's refusal to seriously consider a relationship." 

"And mine?" Bucky asks, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

"Well, yes, but you've got another year at least before he starts nagging you. Although if you continue to insist on your 'outings,' you might not get that much." This last is said with a pointedly raised eyebrow. 

Bucky smirks. "But everyone loves the playboy prince. He's charming."

Winifred sighs, giving the impression that if she were anyone else, she'd be rolling her eyes. "Yes, well, potential brides certainly don't." 

"Lucky I don't want a bride yet, then," Bucky quips.

The queen harrumphs, obviously annoyed by the conversation, and Sam and Sarah share a speculative look just as Steve and Rebecca finish their dance. Steve returns to the spot they've claimed in a corner of the ballroom, and immediately pokes Bucky in the side, rudeness be damned. "I stepped on your sister's foot _sixteen times,_ " he hisses. 

"And she stepped on yours right back," Bucky says, grinning. "I saw. But no one else was paying attention to your footwork, don't worry." It's a bit of a lie, but he's fairly sure it's harmless.

Steve treats Bucky to a supremely unimpressed look. "I was dancing with the _princess._ I'm pretty sure everyone saw." 

"No one cares," Bucky says confidently. "Least of all Rebecca. You did fine."

Steve snorts. "I need a drink," he mutters. "Is there anything stronger than champagne here?" 

Bucky laughs. "If you know who to ask," he says, at the same time as Sarah Rogers asks,

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I just need one," Steve reassures Sarah. "I know my limits, and I'll be okay." 

Sarah relents, and Bucky nods his head toward the other side of the room. "Come with me."

Steve follows readily. "Do you usually need better alcohol at these things?" 

"All the time," Bucky admits. "Long gone are the days when I could get merry off of a couple glasses of champagne. Leo," he adds, and an attractive waiter turns to smile at them. "Do me a favour and get us both a scotch, would you?"

Leo's smile widens. "Right away, Your Highness. Captain Rogers."

Steve gives the servant a grateful smile that slides into a grimace as soon as his back is turned. "'Captain America,'" he hisses. "Really? I meant to yell at you before now, didn't get a chance, but seriously? All I did was rescue your men." 

Bucky has the grace to look sheepish. "I didn't think anyone would hear," he says. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure it'll die down soon."

Steve gives him a dry look. "It's a nickname started by the crown prince. It's not gonna die down." 

"Well it doesn't have to be bad?" Bucky hedges.

"It's yet more attention on me, Buck," Steve argues. 

"You'll be out of the limelight soon enough," Bucky says. "There'll be another scandal and no one will care about you anymore."

"It can't come soon enough," Steve mutters. 

Bucky smiles. "When are you going back home?"

"Tomorrow," Steve answers. "Mom and Sam need to get back to work. We will probably leave around one or so." 

"What are your plans after that?"

Steve shrugs. "Maybe go back on tour, maybe stay away from the front for a while. I don't know." 

"Well, I'd steer clear of here for a while, whatever you do," Bucky says. "My mother has set her sights on you."

Steve looks at Bucky, frowning. "What do you mean?" 

Bucky sighs. "She thinks you and Rebecca would make a lovely couple."

Steve wants to snort, to point out that if he'd be interested in either of the royal children, it'd be Bucky, but he bites it back. "Really?" 

"I think she liked the way you kept stamping on each other's feet," Bucky says. "It's important to have a good sense of humour in a marriage." He's learned that much from his parents, at least, in that he can't remember the last time he saw his father laugh.

Steve does snort at that, smiling despite himself. "Yeah, I can see that. Explains why my dad didn't stick around; he didn't have a single funny particle in his body." 

Bucky looks at Steve then, surprised. "I didn't know," he says softly. "I'm sorry."

Steve shrugs. "It was when I was five, I didn't like him, and - Mom had some bruises. He left finally, and never came back. Haven't heard from him since, and honestly I hope he's lying in a ditch somewhere." 

Bucky doesn't really know what to say to that, and thankfully he's saved from having to say anything by the reappearance of Leo, two glasses of scotch in hand. "Thank Christ," Bucky groans, taking his glass and wasting no time in raising it to his lips. "That strong enough for you, Rogers?"

Steve takes a sip and makes an appreciative noise. "Much better; thanks." 

Bucky laughs. "No problem," he says. "We should probably get back to our mothers."

"We probably should," Steve says with a rueful grin. "I just hope I don't have to dance anymore." 

"At least your turn with Rebecca should have put people off," Bucky says, grinning back.

Steve laughs. "Unless they want me to break their toes," he agrees. 

Bucky laughs again. "Come on," he says. "I promise I'll dance with anyone who makes eyes at you."

Steve affects a pout. "What, you won't dance with me?" 

Bucky looks at Steve like he's actually considering it, butthen he shakes his head with a smile. "It's one thing to tread on the princess' toes on public, but another thing entirely to step all over the future king," he teases, his eyes bright buthis tone soft and strangely intimate. "We should probably keep our dances behind closed doors."

Steve raises one eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh really? Well, if you'd like a dance, you know where to find me - I'll save you one." 

Bucky smiles at that, a light flush dusting his cheeks, and nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Steve and Bucky don't get their dance, but the palace finds him a few weeks after the ball; the media has yet to stop with the whole "Captain America" thing, and when Steve hears knocking on his door for the fifth time in three days - and the second time before ten o'clock that day - he thinks he can't be blamed for ripping the door open and snarling, "I have already said 'no comments' a dozen times already, so you can take that microphone and shove it up your - Oh. You're not a reporter." 

The woman before him smiles. "No, Captain Rogers, I'm an envoy from the palace. The king has requested your presence immediately."

Steve's grip tightens on the door. "Why?" he asks, wary. 

"The king wants to explain himself, in person," the woman says. "If you're amenable?"

Steve is still cautious, but one doesn't exactly turn down the king. "Okay." 

The woman smiles. "I'm Ann, by the way. Do you need me to arrange transport?"

"Uh, yes, please," Steve says. "I wasn't exactly expecting to return to the palace, so..." 

Ann just smiles and pulls out her phone. "Well, you can come back with me, or I can arrange for someone to pick you up tomorrow?"

"Um, tomorrow? I need to pack, and make arrangements... How long will I be at the palace?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly say, Captain Rogers," is the infuriatingly-vague answer. "If you need anything else while you're there, it can be sent for or provided for you."

"Of course," Steve mutters. "Well, tomorrow will still be best. I'm assuming, since you know where I live, you have my contact info?" 

"I do."

"Okay, then I guess just give me a heads-up whenever you or whoever will be coming."

"Of course," Ann says cheerfully, already swiping at her phone. "We'll see you tomorrow, Captain Rogers."

Steve gives Ann a faint smile. "See you tomorrow." 

* * *

Steve arrives at the palace just after noon the next day, and is immediately swamped by people eager to help with his bags and prepare him for his audience with the king. Just as Steve's starting to look like he's drowning, however, the crowd of over-excited staff members parts like the Red Sea to allow Bucky to stride right up to Steve, a warm smile on his face. "Thank you, everyone, but I'll take it from here," he says smoothly.

"Your Highness," a particularly bold woman protests, "we've been told to--"

"I'll take it from here," Bucky repeats. "The king won't be out of his council meeting for another couple of hours; you can find us just before then, okay?"

"Yes, Your Highness," the woman says, and Bucky rolls his eyes as he grasps Steve's elbow and leads him further into the palace.

"Sorry about that," he says. "They get really excited whenever someone important arrives."

"But I'm not anyone important," Steve protests, though he lets Bucky lead him away from the crowd. "Why am I even here?" 

"They haven't told you?" Bucky asks. "Jesus Christ."

"Obviously not," Steve says, a bit miffed now, "or I wouldn't be asking. What the hell is going on?" 

Bucky hesitates. "You're being promoted," he says.

" _Again?_ "

"Yeah," Bucky says, and he sounds tense. "It's--"

"James," a warm voice interrupts, and they both turn to find the king approaching them. "I see you've found Captain Rogers. How are you, Steve?"

"I'm doing well, if a bit confused, Your Majesty," Steve says politely. 

King George smiles. "All will be explained in time," he says. "Shall we?"

Steve shoots Bucky a near-panicked look, but nods nonetheless. "Of course; I will follow you?" 

"Walk with you," Bucky adds helpfully. "He'll walk with you."

The king beams. "Excellent," he says. "This way."

* * *

The first thing Steve does after receiving his fancy new promotion is find Bucky. A few questions to the servants points him to Bucky's chambers, and he all but storms over there, knocking angrily on the door. He barely hears Bucky grant permission for him to enter before he's slipping inside, just catching himself from slamming the opulent door shut behind him, and growling, "This is all _your_ fault. You _had_ to make that comment that the media picked up on and kept going, and now your father's fucking promoted me to _actually being_ Captain America!" 

"You could have said no," Bucky points out.

Steve snorts. "Who the hell says no to a _king_?" 

"The kind of guy who cares more about serving his country on the front lines than serving his monarch in the press room," Bucky says. "Or was I wrong?"

Steve sighs. "I'm not going back to the front lines either way; there's a ceasefire," he reminds Bucky. 

"For however long that lasts," Bucky says doubtfully. "Or is that what he wants you for? To help with the peace talks?"

"Apparently the public likes me an awful lot, and he wants me to be the go-between between him and the public, or something to that effect."

Bucky sighs. "I'm sorry I got you into this," he says, and it's clear he's being sincere. "You can still say no, if that's what you want."

"Well, helping the country is definitely the big reason I said yes," Steve muses, giving Bucky a grin, "but it's not the _only_ reason." 

Bucky grins back. "Oh really?"

Steve's grin turns into a half-smirk. "Really." 

Bucky's smile softens, and he opens his mouth to say something else when there's a knock at the door. He sighs. "Come in?"

It's Reginald. "Sorry to bother you, Your Highness, but the king has requested an audience."

Steve shares a look with Bucky before he nods encouragingly. "Go on; I'm just gonna go get started on everything I need to get in order to move here." 

"All right," Bucky agrees easily enough. "I'll find you later?"

Steve nods. "Of course." 

* * *

Five minutes later, Bucky throws the doors to his father's office open and storms inside. "Is it true?" he demands.

The king looks up, expression calm; he'd expected his son would be told of what was going on. "Yes," he answers. 

Bucky bares his teeth. "This is _bullshit_ ," he snaps. "Can't you stop it?"

"I could," the king says slowly, "if I were of a mind to." 

"But you're not?" Bucky asks, incredulous. " _Why?_ I'm kidnapped, tortured, I _lose an arm_ , and I'm being punished?"

"Yes."

Bucky explodes. "What for?! Dad, you can't believe I went in there without support; I didn't! We _had_ support, those woods were _crawling_ with our men, but as soon as the enemy started firing, they were gone. I don't know what happened, but it was not my fault!"

"You were the highest-ranking officer," the king counters. "Everything that happened is your fault. That is what command is, son." 

"Bullshit!" Bucky spits again. "How is this possible? I didn't break _any_ rules and I'm being screwed, but Steve disobeyed direct orders from his CO _and_ his king and he's been promoted twice!"

"Would you like me to make the punishment more severe?" the king snaps. "Because I can, you know. Take your punishment like a man, or will I have to treat you like a boy?" 

Bucky grits his teeth, but he doesn't argue. "Just tell me why," he says. " _Why_ are you doing this?"

"You know why; your men wouldn't want you in command if they knew about your... _preferences_. I'm just saving you the public humiliation of your men rejecting you."

The bottom drops out of Bucky's stomach. "What?"

His father's expression remains neutral. "You heard me." 

Bucky takes a breath, but even so, his voice shakes when he speaks. "Dad--"

"No." The reprimand is sharp. "This has already been decided, James." 

" _Father_ ," Bucky tries again, because he has to, and thank the heavens his voice comes out stronger. "I-- I don't know where you heard that I have _preferences_ , but you're wrong."

"I didn't hear it from anyone, and I do not have to explain myself. Believe me when I say that my source is trustworthy."

 _And what?_ Bucky wants to demand. _Is it really so terrible? Am I?_ But all that comes out is a small, frightened request. "Please don't tell Mom."

The king raises an eyebrow. "Not unless it becomes... necessary. I would much rather she find out from me or you than from the media." 

"She won't have to," Bucky says. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"What I want is a proper son," the king says, turning his back on Bucky. "Unfortunately, it looks like neither of us will be receiving our happy ending today. You're dismissed." 

Bucky nods, swallowing hard, though he knows his father can't see him. "Yes sir," he says thickly - and he's proud of the fact that he doesn't let a single tear fall until he's out of the room and the door is closed behind him.

* * *

Bucky doesn't find Steve like he said he would, doesn't even look for him, and completely ignores him at breakfast the next morning, too. He expects his mother or Rebecca are behind Steve's appearance at the intimate family breakfasts his father insists on, and he's less than happy about it, but he's at least grateful that Steve has enough tact to not mention the obvious tension between the king and his heir. Bucky clears out of the room as soon as he's finished eating without having said a single word to any of them, and he knows that if he'd look back he'd see hurt on Steve's face, but he can't. He just can't.

"Don't mind him," Rebecca says, smiling at Steve over her coffee cup. "He's never been a morning person.

Steve's expression is still unsure. "Yeah, it seems like I'm surrounded by those." 

Rebecca grins. "Why don't you spend the morning with me?" she suggests. "You don't have anything to attend to right away, do you?"

Steve shakes his head. "Not until this evening," he answers. "I'd love to spend some time with you." 

Rebecca grins, and gestures to Steve's plate. "When you're done I'll show you some of the quieter corners of the palace. Bucky said you like art, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Steve says with a smile. "I didn't get to see a lot of the palace last time I was here." 

"Then you must give Steve a tour," the queen says with a smile. "Show him all of our best pieces."

Rebecca grins. "I will."

* * *

The tour is interesting, and Steve is definitely coming back for a closer look at that original Monet, but even Rebecca can tell that he's still a bit concerned about Bucky's behavior. Eventually, she points him towards the far West wing, telling him that he might be able to find Bucky hiding there if he's really so worried about the prince. 

Steve takes her advice, but it still takes him almost half an hour of searching to find Bucky's boots sticking out from behind the curtains closing off a window seat. Steve raps his knuckles on the wall to alert Bucky to his presence. "Hey," he says, voice quiet so as not to echo. "You all right?" 

Bucky's face pops out from behind the curtain, looking startled but not annoyed. "How did you--" He sighs. "My sister."

"Yup," Steve says, leaning against the wall. "Though to be fair she only pointed me towards the far end of this wing. Still took me half an hour to find you."

Bucky's smile lasts for only a few moments. "Well, you've found me," he says. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Steve says, shrugging one shoulder. 

"I'm fine," Bucky says, doesn't quite snap. "As you can see."

"Oh yeah," Steve says, voice heavy with sarcasm. "I can tell by the way you're hiding like a four-year-old." 

This time Bucky does snap. "Well no one asked you, okay?"

Steve sighs. "I'm not going away, Bucky. What's bothering you? You were fine, then you went to speak with your father - " 

"Don't," Bucky interrupts. "My father has nothing to do with this."

"I think your father has everything to do with this," Steve counters. "You were fine before you went to see him, and when you came back out of there you were acting like this." 

"Well then it's nothing to do with _you_."

"Bucky, come on; what happened?"

"Back off!" Bucky snaps, jumping to his feet and all but squaring up to Steve. "Go back to the king, Golden Boy. And stay away from me."

Steve straightens, holding his hands out. "Hey, don't take whatever problem you have with - or because of - your father out on me," he says sharply. "Or if you are, then at least tell me what the hell you're blaming me for." 

Bucky laughs, but he just sounds exhausted. "I'm not blaming you for anything," he says. "How could you be to blame?" He pushes away from the window and heads back down the hall.

* * *

Bucky avoids all of them for the rest of the week, and does nothing of note except go out the night of his and Steve's fight and wind up blind drunk and dancing on a table with several scantily-clad women. The press has a field day, but no one in the palace seems overly worried; this is just what Bucky does. In fact, Rebecca only starts to become anxious after the third day of Bucky's self-imposed isolation. That, apparently, is exactly what Bucky does not do.

Steve is the only person Rebecca admits her anxiety to; her parents are either unconcerned or uninterested, and Rebecca and Steve have been spending a lot of time together lately, largely because Bucky has no time for either of them. They're becoming fast friends, and when Rebecca is invited to officially open a gallery not far from the palace, she doesn't think twice about inviting Steve along to the party.

She kind of regrets it when the paper is brought to her in the morning, and she wastes absolutely no time in slipping into a thin house coat and hastening across the palace to the rooms that have officially become Steve's. She knocks on the door and tries the handle, but when she finds it unlocked she doesn't open it any further. "Steve?" she calls quietly. "It's me. Are you decent?"

"What? Oh, sorry," Steve says, hastening over to open the door; he's dressed in casual clothes, clearly not ready to be seen in public yet. "Sorry, I was reading a report from one of the assistants your dad forced on me. What's wrong?" 

"Have you seen the paper?" Rebecca asks, quickly closing the door behind her. She shows Steve the front page of the one in her hands anyway. Featured is a photograph of them outside the gallery, arms linked and laughing, beneath the headline, _CAPTAIN AMERICA GETTING COSY WITH THE PRINCESS_. "We got papped last night."

"Oh for God's sake," Steve groans, skimming the article. "So because we're a guy and a girl, we have to be getting into a romantic relationship?" 

Rebecca nods. "It's nonsense, obviously, and I completely understand if you want to contact the press and tell them they got it wrong," she says, biting her lip. "But... if you don't mind either way, I was wondering..."

Steve winces. "Rebecca, you're great, but - I really prefer... less x-chromosomes?" 

Rebecca's eyes widen. " _Oh_ , so you're-- okay," she says. "But you're not out, right?"

"Technically I'm bisexual," Steve explains. "I'm attracted to some women, but I've always preferred men, though I've never had a serious relationship with either. And no, I'm not out." 

Rebecca nods. "So, technically, if the media were to _assume_ we were together... Would you have a problem with that?"

Steve frowns, considering the question carefully. "I don't believe so," he says finally. "Why would you suggest letting them believe that?" 

Rebecca sighs. "Because it would be advantageous. For both of us."

"I'm sorry, I don't see how?"

"Well, while you're not desperate for it to be public knowledge, it'd probably be for the best if your... preferences were kept quiet."

"I can understand that, but that doesn't necessitate the fake relationship," Steve points out. 

"And that's not what I'm asking for," Rebecca says quickly. "I would never ask you to _lie_ ; just... omit the truth."

"Why, though?" Steve asks, still confused. "Obviously you're hoping to get something out of this, so what?" 

Rebecca looks down. "I have a secret of my own to keep."

"One your parents wouldn't agree with," Steve guesses. 

Rebecca nods. "I fell for someone I shouldn't, and if they find out..."

"It won't end well," Steve finishes for her. "Well, for something like that, I suppose letting the media speculate about our relationship is worth it." 

Rebecca looks up, grins. "Just until it's not convenient anymore," she promises. "If you find someone, we'll put a stop to it right away."

Steve hesitates, though. "What if I found someone... like myself?" he asks after a moment. 

Rebecca's smile softens. "Then I'd be happy for the both of you, and if you wanted to go public, I'd support you."

Steve nods; he doesn't have the courage to tell her he's already interested in this hypothetical guy, much less that it's her brother. "Thank you; what do we want to say if your parents ask?" 

Rebecca hesitates, thinking. "Just that it's early days," she suggests. "We don't want to put a label on things."

"Makes sense," Steve says thoughtfully. 

"I'm not asking you to lie," Rebecca repeats. "You can put a stop to it whenever you want."

"I know," Steve says with a smile. "But I'll help you as much as I can, regardless." 

Rebecca grins. "Thank you," she says, crossing the room quickly to throw her arms around Steve. "Thank you so much."

Steve grunts in surprise when he suddenly gets an armful of princess, but he returns the hug readily enough. "You're welcome," he says sincerely; he's only known Rebecca for a short while, but he's already become quite fond of her. He doesn't get the chance to say anything else, though, before there's a purposeful knock on the door. Pulling back from Rebecca with a slight smile, he puts a respectable distance between them before calling, "Come in."

"Good morning, Captain Rogers, I--" Reginald hesitates in the door, gaze assessing as he looks between Steve and Rebecca. "I see that you're busy," he says. "Your Highness."

Rebecca smiles, fiddling with the sleeve of her house coat. "Good morning, Reginald."

Reginald smiles back. "Captain Rogers, there's a reporter here to see you with questions about the latest developments in the peace talks. Should I send him away?"

"No, I'll be down in just a minute; the princess had something she needed to bring to my attention," Steve says. "Thank you, Reginald." 

Reginald nods. "I'll have him wait in the reception room in the east wing."

"Thank you," Steve repeats with a smile. "I'll be down shortly." 

* * *

Bucky has someone bring him the morning newspaper every day, along with the coffee he so desperately needs before he can bear to face his family, so he's well aware of what happened last night and how the press are spinning it by the time he's ready to head down to breakfast. He has no intention of making a spectacle - the thought of Steve and his sister together is abhorrent as it is ridiculous; he's come to the conclusion after countless hours of silent observation that Steve is almost definitely gay - and is more than content to sit back and watch events unfold over toast and bacon. Rebecca will be embarrassed, but Steve will be _mortified_ , and Bucky is just sadistic enough to sit back and enjoy his perfect sister's fuck up for a little while before he throws Steve a bone. He knows he's been treating Steve like shit lately, but Bucky _does_ like him.

At least, that's how Bucky expects it to pan out. When he reaches the dining room and sees that only his sister and his mother have beat him to breakfast, he hangs back out of sight to listen in.

"So," Rebecca says awkwardly. "I'm assuming you've seen the paper."

"Yes, your father and I have both seen it," the queen hums as she flips through an ebook on her tablet. "I have to say, I approve of your choice, even if it is only for a date or two. Still better than what your brother prefers to do." 

Bucky nearly chokes on his own tongue, but Rebecca just laughs. "Bucky will settle down eventually, he's just picky," she says. "You were picky too, remember, and you wound up married to the king."

The queen looks up then with a raised eyebrow. " _I_ never got drunk and started dancing on a table in a crowded club," she points out. 

"So he's a little wild," Rebecca says, "it won't last. He's still young, and he's under a lot of pressure."

"He's irresponsible," Winifred snaps. "He's the Crown Prince; I realize there are a lot of expectations placed on him but it would be nice if he would meet _some_ of them." 

"Well, at least the press adore him," Rebecca says. "Although I seem to have taken some of the heat off of him now."

Winifred sighs. "Some of it," she agrees. "He's still under court martial." 

Rebecca winces right along with Bucky. "What does Father think the outcome of that will be?"

"It's more about making a point; your brother was the highest ranking officer on that field when he and his men were captured. As such, he was responsible for those men's lives, and he failed to protect them."

Bucky doesn't want to hear anymore, doesn't want to find out if his sister will continue to stick up for him or what his mother will say if she does. So he clears his throat and heads into the dining room like he hasn't been eavesdropping for the past five minutes. Rebecca looks up sharply, and a single glance is all that's required for Bucky to know that she knows he was listening. And people say twins can't read each other's minds. Only when it'd actually be convenient, maybe.

"Bucky," Rebecca says. "How are you this morning?"

"Peachy," Bucky says tightly as he sits down. "Though not as good as you, I'd imagine."

"So you've seen the news."

"Yep."

"I think it's wonderful," their mother says blithely. "Steve is a good man; Rebecca could do much worse than him." 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I'll bet."

Winifred shoots him a quelling look. "It's about time that you got back into dating, dear," she adds, turning back to Rebecca. "How did it happen?" 

Bucky scoffs. "Mom, do you really want to know that?"

"It wasn't anything exciting," Rebecca says. "We're just... seeing how things go."

"Taking things slow," Steve agrees from the doorway; he's looking a little frazzled from the meeting he's just come from, but he gives Rebecca a smile as he takes his usual seat. "We went to the gallery opening together, but we didn't intend for it to be a date." 

Bucky looks up at Steve sharply, searching his face, but for once he's giving nothing away. Could this bullshit actually be true? "But it was a date?" Bucy presses, because he can't help himself.

Steve shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "We decided to give it a try." Not a complete lie, but Steve still hopes Bucky doesn't push them into actually lying. 

Bucky nods, looks away, his stomach twisting itself into a knot. _Fuck._ "Where's Father? I'm starving."

"Oh, he's dining with the delegate that's here for the talks," Winifred answers. "We were waiting on Steve." 

"My apologies," Steve says quickly. "This reporter was more thorough than most." 

"Then let's eat," Rebecca says brightly, and Bucky pointedly ignores the curious look she sends his way.

* * *

Things are strained that day, and Bucky ignores and avoids Rebecca and Steve even more; they try not to let it get to them, but it's a bit hard when the prince isn't even trying to be subtle about it. The next isn't much better, but at least Bucky says hello to Steve on the morning of the third day. 

On the evening of the third day, Rebecca and Steve go out for dinner; they've had to attend a PR meeting, the whole royal family and Steve, and neither he nor Rebecca much want to spend more time with Rebecca's family after that disaster. Steve retreats to his rooms to get ready; unsurprisingly, he's finished before Rebecca, and after chuckling to himself about the clicheness of the situation, he moves to the entrance hall to wait for the princess. 

He's surprised when Bucky, not Rebecca, is the one to walk into the entrance hall. "Hello," he says tentatively, unsure of Bucky's reaction. 

"Hey." Bucky looks just as surprised to see Steve, but it only shows for a second. "You look nice."

"Thank you," Steve says after a moment. "What are you doing down here?" 

"Just out for a walk," Bucky says. "What about you?"

"Rebecca and I are going to dinner," Steve says. "I'm just waiting on her to get changed." 

Bucky's expression tightens. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," Steve says with a shrug. "That PR meeting was horrible, and we'd like to eat somewhere a bit less stressful." Too late, Steve realizes how that might sound: like he and Rebecca are abandoning Bucky. 

Bucky just nods. "Well, enjoy yourselves," he says. "And if you ever want someone to actually show you a good time around here, let me know."

"I will," Steve says, even as he knows that as long as he and Rebecca are keeping up this charade, he most likely won't be able to, no matter how much he would love to.

* * *

Steve and Rebecca go on regular dates over the next few weeks, while Bucky is stuck at home trying to convince his father that he's being a Good Boy. It rankles, but not as much as it does when he finally does go out, for _two hours_ just to have a drink somewhere that isn't his own bedroom and doesn't talk to a single person, and still ends up on the front page of the morning paper. Steve and his sister have been dominating the headlines with their cutesy coupley bullshit of late, but he happened to leave the bar at the same time as a woman - who, Bucky remembers, was out with her girlfriend - and they've been splashed all over the tabloids like they were caught having sex in a back alley. Because of course the Crown Prince being seen out with _anyone_ , even if he's never actually met them, means he's gearing up for yet another one night stand.

To make matters worse, he's summoned for an audience with the king before he's even opened his eyes, and when he finally drags himself into the office the first thing he sees is the newspaper on the desk. Bucky sighs and sits down. "This couldn't wait until after breakfast? Or even during?"

"I'd rather have this discussion in private," the king says coolly. "I had thought you took my words to heart; this indicates otherwise." 

"Father, I went out for a drink," Bucky says tiredly. "I don't even know that woman."

The king shoots his son a quelling look. "The point remains, that if you cannot uphold the good name of this family, then I will have no choice but to find someone who _can_ to take your place." 

Bucky's jaw drops. "What are you saying?”

George's gaze doesn't waver. "You are not the only child capable of being my heir." 

" _Why?_ " Bucky demands. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You haven't been doing anything right either," the king snaps. 

"So what, you're going to replace me?" Bucky hisses. "I'm the only male heir, Father, the people wouldn't accept Rebecca alone even if she wanted it."

"But she won't be alone," George counters. "You've seen how her relationship with Steve is progressing. The people like Rebecca and they adore Steve. _You,_ they like in the sense of how they like amusing cat videos."

"So you're replacing me with _Steve_ ," Bucky says flatly.

The king appears unrepentant as he answers. "Yes." 

Bucky doesn't even think to hold back. "You son of a bitch," he snarls. "I've done what you've asked - I've cooperated with the court martial, I've barely left the palace in weeks! What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to be the son this country needs," the king snaps back. "I want you to be _normal._ " 

Just like that all the fight drains right out of Bucky. "I'm _trying_ ," he says. "I was born to rule this country. Please don't take that away from me."

"Then don't make me," the older Barnes says sharply. "I will not let this country fall into the hands of a _pervert._ " 

Bucky blushes a deep, angry red. "I'm not a pervert," he says softly.

"Your preferences say otherwise," George says coldly. 

Bucky's jaw tightens. "I'm trying," he repeats. "Give me time. I won't let you down."

The king's expression hardens. "See that you don't. You're dismissed." 

Bucky leaves the king's presence without another word, and by the time he reaches his own rooms and locks the door behind him, he's come to a decision. He's a sweet guy, but Steve Rogers has to go.

* * *

"I tried again this morning," Rebecca tells Steve a week or so later. "He's still being an ass." They're talking, of course, about Bucky; he's finally stopped ignoring him, butnow he's just being mean, snubbing Steve like he's beneath him and being openly aggressive towards Rebecca. She sighs. "I wish I knew what was eating him."

"I'd guess it has something to do with me," Steve says wryly. "Considering I'm the one he's being rude to again." 

"But you haven't done anything," Rebecca says. "He's got no reason to be mad at you."

Steve sighs. "He was acting weird after that other meeting with your father, and his behavior got worse after this last one. I think your father might be making whatever he's got with me worse." 

Rebecca frowns, thinking. "Father doesn't always see eye to eye with him," she admits, "but I don't think he'd turn Bucky against you."

Steve taps the fingers of one hand against his upper arm, brow creased as he thinks. "Maybe not," he says slowly, "but what if Bucky already felt threatened? He acts like he's defending his territory or something sometimes." 

Rebecca looks at him sharply. "You think so?"

"I did get promoted over him while he was hauled into court martial," Steve points out. 

"Jealousy," Rebecca says, an obvious lightbulb turning on behind her eyes. "Oh my god, you might be right."

"What?"

Rebecca snaps her gaze to Steve's, something unreadable on her face. "Well, you said it yourself," she says. "You're being praised and rewarded for breaking the rules and he's the one in trouble. Maybe he's jealous."

"I can understand being pissed for being blamed and punished for something he couldn't control, but this is way past that."

"Then what do you suggest?" Rebecca asks.

Steve sighs. "I don't know," he confesses. "I don't know Bucky the way that you do; I don't think I know him at all, really." 

Rebecca looks away. "Let me try talking to him again," she says. "I think I might understand him a little better now."

Steve's a bit confused, but he nods nonetheless. "All right." 

Rebecca smiles. "Thank you."

* * *

Rebecca finds Bucky late the next evening, in the library for once because he's sick of the sight of his own rooms. He doesn't look up from the volume in his hands when she drops down into the armchair opposite his, but he doesn't ignore her either. "Are you lost?"

"No," Rebecca answers simply, all hints of the smug slightly-older twin gone. "We haven't talked much lately; just wanted to spend some time with you." 

Bucky turns a page. "Well I'm busy."

"I can see that," Rebecca notes. "Researching obscure Welsh myths, are we?" 

"Something like that."

"Fun," Rebecca says with a raised eyebrow before diving right into the heart of the matter. "So, which one of us are you jealous of?" 

That makes Bucky look up. "What?"

"Look, I'm not stupid, and I've been living with you since you were born. The way you've been behaving... We think you're jealous of one of us. So, which one is it?" Rebecca looks at her brother intently; she's not going to give up until she has an answer. "I mean, if you're jealous of Steve, then that'd be pretty understandable, but I think... I think it might be me you're jealous of." There's no one around to hear the words, but Rebecca speaks them quietly anyway.

Bucky's look of surprise and confusion turns to one of contempt. "I'm not _jealous_ of either of you," he says. "I just don't like the guy."

"Bucky, c'mon," Rebecca pleads. "You liked him just fine, and now all of a sudden you're being rude to him and shoving him away, you're attacking me like I've done something to you, and you won't talk to _anyone._ " 

"He was nice when he wasn't dating my sister," Bucky says. "You deserve better than a common goody-two-shoes with a personality thinner than a sheet of paper, which is what he is, no matter what fancy titles Father's given him."

Rebecca huffs, and she knows she's pushing it, but her frustration makes her eyes narrow as she bites out, "Is that who you think you deserve?" 

Bucky's lip curls, while inside he feels like he's been slapped. His father, he expected it from, but Rebecca? He snaps his book shut and gets to his feet. "What I _deserve_ ," he snarls, "is the crown, once Father finds he has no more use for it. And if any of you think to stand in my way, I'll cut you down like grass. Don't think I won't."

Rebecca blinks, caught off-guard by the sudden ferocity in Bucky's voice. "What are you going on about? No one is out to take the crown from you." 

"Yeah, you would say that," Bucky says, though he genuinely doesn't believe that his sister is in on the king's plan, and instead of disdainful the words just come out tired. "I don't want to fight with you, okay? I don't even want to fight with Steve, I just-- I don't trust him."

"He saved your life," Rebecca says quietly, honestly confused now. 

"And look what he got out of it," Bucky says. "That kind of shit, it goes to a guy's head. Especially a guy with a background like Steve's."

"I haven't seen any change in Steve's behavior," Rebecca points out. "Except for how he's starting to avoid you, what with you being so rude to him all the time." 

"I don't see why he cares anyway," Bucky says defensively. "He's got you, and Mom and Dad are eating right out of his hands - why does he need the full set?"

"I don't know, maybe because he's living with us, and he'd like to at least be on civil terms with all of us?" Rebecca suggests with a raised eyebrow. 

Bucky sighs. "I can be civil," he says, "but I can't help the way I feel."

Maybe it's a touch of the famed twin telepathy, maybe Bucky's giving away more than he thinks or maybe Rebecca's just putting lots of little pieces together, but either way the older twin manages to keep her expression from changing as she registers the possible double meaning. "I know you can't," she says. "Civil is all I'm - all _we're_ \- asking for." 

Bucky relaxes fractionally. "Then that's what you'll get," he says. He raises the book in his hand. "I'm gonna take this to my room."

This conversation hasn't gone at all the way Rebecca wanted, but she knows when to cut her losses to retreat and regroup. "Okay. I'll see you at dinner?" 

"Sure," Bucky says, and beats a hasty retreat.

* * *

True to his word, Bucky starts treating both Rebecca and Steve with civility, though he's clearly struggling to return to his normal self. Rebecca is willing to give him time, and up to now has done nothing to change people's perception of her relationship with Steve. They're actually due to go out tonight, to see a play that they both studied at school, but five hours before they're due to leave Rebecca seeks Steve out with a request.

"Hey," she says when she finds him in the music room. There's a piano in here that Bucky loved to play, before. "Would it be really terrible if I cancelled on you tonight?"

Steve looks up from the sketch he's been working on, looking at Rebecca curiously. "I suppose not," he says thoughtfully. "Did something come up?"

Rebecca nods. "My, umm, my boyfriend has the night off," she says. "You should still go to the play, though."

"Oh," Steve says, comprehension dawning. "Okay, I might," he adds, giving Rebecca a smile. "Go enjoy your night."

"Thanks," Rebecca says, grinning - but then she hesitates. "Y'know, I thought you'd have asked by now."

"Asked what?"

"Who it is that I'm seeing; why it's such a big secret."

"Ah." Steve closes his sketchbook on his pencil then, giving Rebecca his full attention. "I've wondered," he admits, "but other than something from the plot of a harlequin romance, I don't have any idea. If you want to tell me, that's fine, but it's okay if you don't want me to know, too."

Rebecca nods, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "He's a servant," she admits at last. "You've met him, actually."

Steve can't say that he's surprised; he can well imagine the upset the news that Rebecca is in love with a servant would cause. "I have?" he asks, curious now.

Rebecca nods again. "It's Leo," she says. "From the ball? He's the one Bucky went to for the scotch."

It takes Steve a moment to place who Rebecca is talking about, and then he grins. "Well, he is handsome," he says teasingly. "Does he have a personality to match?"

Rebecca flushes, smiles. "He's lovely," she says. "Perfect, really. But," she winces, "not fit for a princess."

"Well, I'm not royalty, and I'm still not entirely clear on how the whole thing works, but if you love him, and he loves you - that seems like enough of a 'fit' to me," Steve offers.

Rebecca gives him a grateful look. "Tell my father that," she says. "Except don't, because I'd rather my boyfriend not be sent into exile for the crime of loving me."

Steve winces. "The king does seem... old-fashioned."

"Old-fashioned, elitist..." Rebecca smiles. "He's my dad, and I love him, and he's a good king. But he does have high expectations, for both of us."

"I can tell," Steve says, mouth twisting into a wry smile.

Rebecca's smile is sad, but it's clear that she's spent a long time struggling with her father's expectations and has since resigned herself to her situation. "Well," she says, "enjoy the play. Tell me all about it tomorrow."

"I will," Steve promises. "Have fun with Leo."

* * *

The play is good, and Steve greatly enjoys it, even without company. He gets stopped for autographs and pictures, something that he's slowly getting used to, but thankfully tonight everyone he meets is polite, if occasionally over-enthusiastic. He's tired by the time he gets back to the palace, tired enough that he doesn't really watch where he's going until he almost runs into someone. "I'm sorry, I - Oh. Hello, Bucky."

"Steve." For a second it looks like Bucky is just going to bolt, but then he actually looks at Steve and he hesitates. "Been somewhere fancy?"

Steve shrugs. "Just a play," he answers."Rebecca cancelled, but I still wanted to go, so."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That's not like her."

"Something came up," Steve says vaguely; Rebecca's secret isn't his to tell, and Steve has a feeling she hasn't told anyone in her family about her relationship.

Bucky nods. "Well, I'm just heading out," he says, "so I'll see you later."

Something - Steve isn't sure what - makes him ask, "Where are you going?"

Bucky looks surprised, but he answers readily enough. "Thought I'd hit a few clubs."

"Would you like some company?"

Bucky blinks. "What?"

"I haven't really had much of a chance to get out and see what the city's like at night," Steve says. "You're a native, so I figured maybe you'd know better. Give me a tour - maybe that good time you promised me weeks ago."

"You're serious," Bucky says, his voice flat. "You want to go out with me?"

Steve shrugs. "What? I can't want to spend a night out with someone other than my girlfriend? It's not like I'm suggesting a date."

A muscle in Bucky's eye twitches, and he looks Steve up and down, taking in the suit and the nice tie and the neatly-styled hair. "Well," he says, smirking, "you can't come dressed like _that_."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "What should I be dressed like, then?"

Bucky's fingers are suddenly in Steve's hair, raking through the gel and ruffling it up a little. "Better," he says, stepping back. "You need to be messier. Find some nice jeans, keep the shirt but untuck it, lose the tie and the jacket."

Steve startles at Bucky's sudden proximity, but he nods. "All right. Give me five minutes?"

"Sure," Bucky agrees easily. "I'll be here."

* * *

Steve gets dressed to Bucky's specifications, leaving his hair the way Bucky had messed it up, and he's back at Bucky's side within five minutes, as promised. "All right," he says with a grin. "Do I pass muster?"

Bucky considers him. "You'll do," he decides. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"I'm gonna be around here for a while," Steve points out. "Might as well get to know the night life."

Bucky grins. "Then let's go."

* * *

The club Bucky takes Steve to turns out to be the most upscale strip joint Steve has ever seen. The first thing Bucky does is put a drink in Steve's hand, and then he's dragging him over to a table that has a great view of the main stage without being too close. "There's a dance floor toward the back," he shouts over the music, "but you're going to need a few more of those before you tackle that."

Well, Steve certainly hadn't expected a strip club, but who is he to argue? "You're the expert here," he says with a laugh.

Bucky grins. "Gotta rough you up a bit before you marry my sister," he says. "You want a lap dance?"

Steve chokes on his drink. "No, I don't particularly want a lap dance - " _Unless you're offering,_ he thinks " - and who the hell said anything about marriage?"

Bucky smirks. "Don't you read the papers?" A woman walks past them and he flags her down, whispers in her ear when she leans into him, and sends her off with a light smack on the ass. Moments later they have a bottle of the club's best champagne on the table and Bucky has a scantily clad girl in his lap. "Sure I can't tempt you?" he asks, grinning over at Steve.

Steve's face is now hot enough to fry an egg. "No, I'm sure," he says; okay, watching girls strip, that's fine. They're doing their job, they're attractive, and they're very talented at what they do. But he doesn't actually want one in his lap.

Bucky just shrugs. "Suit yourself," he says. "Drink up; we'll hit the dance floor next."

"Oh boy," Steve mutters, downing the rest of his drink in one go; he _did_ ask for a good time, though, so he'll give it a shot. Even if he still can't dance for shit.

Bucky makes sure that Steve downs at least half of the champagne before he even thinks about getting Steve to dance. When he's ready, he slips a few bills into his dancer's bra and sends her on her way. "You coming?"

"Sure," Steve says; he's not drunk, not even tipsy, but he certainly feels a good deal less worried about where he's at now after a couple of drinks. "Lead on."

Bucky gets to his feet and grins when Steve follows suit, leads him through the crowd to the dance floor. It's actually not so much a dance floor as it is a mass of writhing bodies that seem to be pulsing along with the bass of the music, but Bucky just laughs at Steve's face and pulls him into the crowd. It takes no time at all to find a couple of girls who are willing to dance - it's highly unlikely that anyone will recognise either of them in a place like this, but even with the pseudo-anonymity the club offers, they're still highly attractive young men and they've got a whole host of girls eating right out of the palms of their hands within minutes.

At least, they would have if Steve would quit stepping on them.

Steve mimes an apology to the last girl, who just rolls her eyes before moving to dance with someone else - someone less likely to break her toes. Steve edges closer to Bucky, leaning in close and raising his voice just enough to be heard over the music. "I told you, I can't dance!"

"I knew you were bad, but I didn't know you were useless!" Bucky laughs. He looks around, but he can't see anything for the wall of bodies surrounding them, and he figures it's safe enough to grasp Steve's hip, pull him close. "Come here."

Steve doesn't fight Bucky's grip, just looks at the other man with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. "You gonna try to teach me to dance again? We can't exactly waltz here."

"This is not the time for waltzing," Bucky promises, grinning. He moves against Steve, manipulates his hips until they're moving in a slow grind that's just the right side of _filthy_. "It isn't about putting your feet in the right place; you've got to _feel_ it."

Steve's feeling it, all right - a little too much. Still, he forces himself to ignore the way that the friction between the two of them is affecting him, trying to focus more on the rhythm of the music and letting himself move with it. He starts getting it, slowly but surely. "Like that?"

"Like that," Bucky agrees. "Now, if I'm a girl, then I put my arm around your neck--" He does so; "--and you put your hands on my hips."

"Well, you're just the right height for that," Steve quips, letting his hands fall where directed.

Their new position means that they're so much closer now, pressed flush against each other, and Bucky can feel _everything_. He's surprised, but not above using it to his advantage; he grinds his hips into Steve's and leans in to murmur into his ear. "Having fun?"

Steve doesn't jerk away, though he can feel his cheeks flaming. "Isn't that the point of this?" he counters. 

"It would be if I was a girl," Bucky teases. "Or my _sister_."

Steve growls under his breath, jerking Bucky impossibly closer and leaning down so he can breathe his next words right into Bucky's ear. "What if I don't want you to be anyone but _you?_ " 

Bucky jerks his head back so he can look Steve in the eye, but doesn't move to put any more distance between them. "Steve. You can't--"

"Can't what?" Steve challenges. "Can't be attracted to you? Can't _want_ you?" 

There's a wild, almost panicked look in Bucky's eyes, but he still isn't pulling away. In fact, his body is reacting in kind. " _Steve_."

Steve growls under his breath, crowding Bucky as he brings his hands up to cup Bucky's face. "I want _you,_ " he says, something in his voice that he can't place, doesn't recognize and can't put a name to even if he wanted to. Then he's leaning in, closing that last bit of distance between them and taking that leap, heedless of whoever might be watching as his mouth crashes down onto Bucky's in a hungry kiss. 

Bucky gasps into Steve's mouth and fists his hand the back of in Steve's shirt, pulling him ever closer, but he only returns the kiss for a handful of seconds before something comes to him through the haze of alcohol and arousal and he jerks away, breathing hard. "For _fuck's_ sake, Steve!" he hisses. "Come on." He grabs Steve's hand, and after a furtive glance around them, starts pulling him towards the back of the club.

Steve follows, confused, as Bucky drags him into a small room in the back of the club. "What are you - I'm not fucking you in the back of a club, Bucky, seriously." 

"What the fuck, Steve?" Bucky demands, like he hasn't even heard him. "What the fuck was that?"

"That was a kiss," Steve says, looking at Bucky oddly. "What, never had one before?" 

" _Why?_ "

"I need a reason to kiss you?" Steve asks. "Maybe it was because I've wanted to for a while, maybe because you were dancing like you were trying to fuck me on the dance floor?" 

"Oh my god," Bucky groans, exasperated and still ridiculously turned on, and he pulls Steve back in, kisses him hard. "Is this what you want?" he asks.

" _Yes._ " Steve returns the kiss, giving as good as he gets as he backs Bucky up against the wall. 

Bucky hits the wall with a _thump_ and a moan, but he's not stupid enough to think they can do this now. "Steve, Steve," he mumbles, wiggling his hand between their chests so he can push Steve away. "Not here, remember?"

Steve has to take a couple of deep breaths to keep himself from diving back in, consequences be damned. "Fine," he bites out. "But don't think I'm done with you yet; I'm just getting started." 

A fresh spike of arousal lights Bucky up, and he gives Steve a hungry look. "Didn't know you had it in you," he says, smirking. "Meet me out back, okay? There's something I need to take care of."

"Deal," Steve says, unable to resist moving in for one last kiss before doing as Bucky says. 

Bucky hangs back, and waits until he's sure Steve is gone before pulling out his phone and sending a message to his contact.

**It's not our night. He's gone and idk where he is. Did you get anything good?**

He waits, agonising, for all of thirty seconds before his phone pings with a new message.

**nothing. u owe me.**

Bucky thinks he can live with that. He pockets his phone and heads outside, grinning when he sees Steve. "Let's get out of here."

Steve takes a moment to just take in Bucky's appearance appreciatively. _He should smile more,_ Steve thinks, and not for the first time. "Lead the way," is what he actually says, deferring to Bucky's superior knowledge of the city.

* * *

"Fuck," Bucky groans, smacking his lips, before he even opens his eyes the next morning. He has a vague recollection of wandering hands and mouths and teeth, champagne, laughter, more champagne, _amazing_ sex with... "Steve." Bucky's eyes snap open and, sure enough, Captain fucking America is in his bed. " _Fuck!_ "

"Shut up," Steve groans, taking his pillow and smacking it across Bucky's face. "Too early. Go back to sleep, Christ."

Bucky snatches the pillow and smacks Steve right back. "Wake the fuck up! We have to deal with this!"

"Fuck, all right, I'm up!" Steve yelps, sitting up to glare at Bucky. It only lasts for a minute, though, before it's replaced with a confused look. "Why am I still in your bed?"

"Because we had _sex!_ " Bucky hisses.

"I remember that," Steve says testily. It had been pretty great sex; Steve would be pissed if he'd forgotten it. "I mean, why the hell did you let me fall asleep here?"

"As opposed to where?" Bucky demands. "Oh my god, this is such a disaster."

Steve frowns. "Why? We were both consenting adults."

"Yeah, we're also both men," Bucky snaps. "Are you even queer, or does champagne just turn you into a slut?"

"I'm bisexual, asshole," Steve snaps back, going back to glaring at Bucky. "And you're one to talk, or have all those pap photos been photoshopped?"

Bucky flushes a deep, angry red. "That's not the point," he snaps. "The point is that you're dating my _sister_."

"What? No I'm not."

Bucky snorts. "Could've fooled me."

"She's seeing someone else - someone your parents wouldn't approve of."

" _What?_ "

Damn it. "She's seeing someone else," Steve repeats. "I'm her beard, I guess. It gets your parents off of her back about settling down, and we go out sometimes, but that's just as friends."

Bucky's mind is spinning. "And what about you?" he demands. "What do you get out of it?"

Steve shrugs. "No crazy fans or whatever trying to throw themselves at me, for one," he says. "And Rebecca's willing to return the favor; she knows I'm bisexual, and that I prefer men."

Bucky stares at Steve for a long moment - and then he laughs. "This is priceless," he says. "Mr and Mrs Perfect are just as twisted as the rest of us."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah; laugh it up. No one's perfect, you know."

"Well you've certainly got my father fooled," Bucky chuckles, but he sobers quickly. "Oh my god, my father."

"What about him?" Steve asks, concerned at Bucky's reaction.

"We have to leave," Bucky says, scrambling out of bed. "He can't know we were together last night. Fuck."

"Whoa, wait, hang on, it's only - " Steve glances at the clock " - five-thirty. What's going on?"

"He'll destroy you," is Bucky's panicked answer. "He'll destroy us _both_."

"Bucky, hey," Steve says, worried as he reaches out to take Bucky by the hand. "Slow down, okay? Just explain what's going on, please."

Bucky takes a shuddering breath, but he sits back down on the bed. "He-- he knows about me," he admits. "He found out, I don't know how. But he's been threatening me."

"Because you like guys?" Steve asks, just to make sure he's hearing this straight. "Threatening you with what?" 

Bucky looks away. "If I can't be a suitable heir then I won't be a suitable king."

"What the _fuck?_ "

Bucky nods. "Which is why he can't find out about us, why we have to leave right now," he says. "It was fun while it lasted, but I can't throw my life away for a meaningless one night stand."

Steve's expression turns hurt. "One night stand?" 

Bucky looks up sharply. "Well what else was it?"

Steve shrugs. "I don't know; I was kind of hoping it could be the beginning of something." 

"Something like what?" Bucky demands.

"What the hell do you think?" Steve snaps, defensive. "Obviously I was mistaken, so what does it matter?" 

Bucky sighs, puts his head in his hand. "Steve, I like you," he admits. "I know I haven't exactly been showing it, but I _can't_ show it, don't you see that?"

Steve takes in a deep breath, and then slowly lets it out. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I can. God _damn_ it must suck to be a royal." 

"You don't know the half of it," Bucky says, a wry twist to his mouth. "I've got nothing to offer you, Steve. Whatever you wanted from this... I can't give it to you."

"I just wanted you," Steve answers. "If you don't want to give this a shot, then okay. I'll go back to my rooms, and when I see you again, we can pretend this never happened. But I think we could be good together - and we could take a page from Rebecca's book." 

Bucky shakes his head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"What do you think I'm saying?"

"That you want to sneak around, find a nice normal girl to hide behind and keep seeing each other in secret," Bucky says. "But that's suicide, Steve; either we'll get caught, or we'll end up miserable and hating each other."

"That's not what I want," Steve protests. "I'm suggesting, since you're so worried about your father finding out about us, that Rebecca and I keep doing what we're doing - only I won't just be her beard - until we're comfortable coming out." 

"You don't get it," Bucky argues. "I can't _ever_ come out, Steve. I have a country to rule."

"The country's gotten more progressive," Steve points out. "And if Rebecca has kids, they could be your heirs. Or surrogacy, that's a thing." 

"You're not hearing me," Bucky says. "Unless I clean up my act, marry some girl and produce a legitimate heir of my own, my father won't _let_ me be king."

Steve blinks. "Are you saying he'll _disown_ you?" 

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Bucky says. "Rebecca's the older twin. All he has to do is change the legislation that favours male children."

"And you want the throne," Steve surmises, voice quiet. 

Bucky clenches his teeth. "I _won't_ be cheated out of what's rightfully mine by my bigoted bastard of a father."

Steve sighs. "All right," he says quietly, making his way to the edge of the bed. "But just - think about it. Please; we wouldn't be hurting anyone, hell, we don't even have to date if you don't want to do anything more than sex. We're both military men, Buck; we know how to be careful, to minimize the risk of getting caught." 

"You're talking to someone who was kidnapped and fuckin' mutilated, remember?" Bucky asks, but his smile doesn't last for long. "Why do you want this so bad?"

Steve doesn't answer at first, too busy gathering his thoughts and straightening them into something coherent. "Because you're smart, you're funny, you're determined and fierce, and devoted. You're gorgeous, and last night was amazing, don't get me wrong, but that's not why I want this - you." 

Bucky looks at Steve with a mixture of surprise and what may well be hope, like that was the last thing he expected him to say - but then he smiles. "We're gonna regret this," he says. "I hope you know that."

Steve grins. "What's life without some regrets?"

* * *

Even with their newfound understanding, they don't stick around the hotel much longer. Bucky makes sure that Steve isn't seen entering the palace at all, much less with him, and he takes the heat from his father over breakfast without complaint; no one even suspects that Captain Perfect was out all night, and Bucky would be a little bitter about that if it didn't suit him so well.

Rebecca, however, isn't fooled. She follows Steve out of the dining room after breakfast and corners him somewhere quiet. "Did you go out with my brother last night?"

"Yeah," Steve says, not seeing the point in denying that. "We split up after a bit, though."

"Was he a jerk? When did you get home?"

"He went off with someone," Steve says. "I didn't look at the clock when I got back."

Rebecca shifts her weight, searches Steve's face. "Why did you go out with him in the first place, after the way he's been treating you?"

Steve shrugs. "I'd like to be on civil terms with him, at least. And he promised to show me around a bit when I first got here. Finally decided to take him up on it."

"And you had a good time?"

Steve shrugs. "Yeah," he says, and then glances around to make sure they're alone; he still lowers his voice, though, because they can't be too careful. "I met someone."

Rebecca's eyes widen. "You did?"

"Yeah. It's still really new, but - I really like them."

"Them," Rebecca repeats. "So it's a boy."

"Well, I was trying to be a little more subtle, but yes."

"Well, who is it?" Rebecca asks, excited now. "You sound pretty sure that it wasn't just a one-time thing. Do I know him?"

"It's really new," Steve hedges. "We don't want to rush anything; we're not even sure we'll be able to meet up again anytime soon." 

"So this isn't you telling me you want to come out?"

"He's not ready," Steve says honestly. "His parents are... jerks, apparently; especially his dad." 

A flicker of something unreadable passes behind Rebecca's eyes. "Steve," she says, "are you sure this is wise?"

"No," Steve admits. "But we're taking our time about it." 

Rebecca looks anything but satisfied by that answer, but there's nothing she can do. "Just be careful, okay?"

Steve smiles. "We will be," he promises.

* * *

Steve finds Bucky in the library around midday, curled up in an armchair with his legs up, bare feet resting on the edge of the cushion. He looks up from the book in his hand when he hears Steve, and gives him a gorgeous smile. "Hey," he says quietly. "You alone?"

"Yeah," Steve says, just as quiet as he takes the armchair next to the prince, opening his own book. "Talked with Rebecca." 

Bucky's surprise shows on his face. "What did you tell her?"

"That I met someone and it was new," Steve answers. 

"Did you tell her--"

"He isn't ready to come out yet."

Bucky nods. "Thank you."

Steve smiles. "Of course. Reading anything interesting?" 

Bucky raises the book. "History of American monarchs," he says with a smirk. "I'm playing 'spot the queer'."

Steve laughs. "A fun game to play with any kind of history," he chuckles. 

Bucky sighs and rests the book back on his lap. "Nothing so far, though," he says. "What about you?"

Steve holds up his copy of _For Love of Mother-Not_. "Science fiction, about an empath and a flying snake," he says with a smile. "One of my favorites." 

Bucky smiles back. "Sounds more interesting than this drivel."

"It's part of a fairly big series," Steve explains. "I read it when I was a kid and fell in love." 

Bucky laughs. "I read this when I was a kid, too," he says. "But it was Pratchett I fell for."

"Yeah?" Steve asks encouragingly, eager to learn more about Bucky. 

Bucky nods. "He's really interested in superstition, and the ways it shapes societies and religions and cultures," he says. "One of the first texts of his I read was about Paganism, and how it formed the basis of Christianity. He's the reason I'm so interested in folklore." He smiles. "And then of course there's Faulks, but he's totally different and I didn't find him until later."

"Huh," Steve says thoughtfully. "That does sound interesting; I've always been intrigued by how different mythologies influenced each other." 

Bucky grins. "I have a couple books in my rooms that deal with just that," he says. "I'll have to show you."

"Oh really?" Steve asks lightly before surreptitiously glancing around to make sure they're alone before adding, "Is that all you'll show me?"

Bucky laughs and stretches his leg out to nudge Steve with his foot. "With lines like that, definitely."

Steve rolls his eyes and nudges Bucky back. "Shut up, my lines are awesome."

Bucky grins and flexes his toes against Steve's shin. "Well," he says, "play your cards right and who knows?"

Steve pokes Bucky in the underside of the knee with the toe of his shoe as he returns the grin. "Sucker for cheesy lines, huh? Now I know your weakness."

"However will I cope?" Bucky sighs, laughs when Steve does it again. "Stop, that tickles."

Steve's grin turns mischievous. "Oh?" he says, the picture of innocence even as he repeats the movement yet again, digging in just a little bit more this time. "What do you mean, this?"

"Steve!" Bucky cries, his voice unnaturally high as he squirms away, grinning despite himself.

He pulls his knee out of Steve's reach, but Steve smirks as he goes for the bottoms of Bucky's feet instead, just managing to brush the toe of his shoe over the sensitive skin of the arch of Bucky's foot.

Bucky shouts and kicks out involuntarily, winds up with his foot in Steve's lap. "Please don't," he laughs, face flushed. "I will hurt you."

Steve, who's already locked one hand around Bucky's ankle, just grins. "Then you shouldn't have thrown this into my lap," he informs Bucky before striking mercilessly.

It's a miracle that no one hears the honest-to-god shriek Bucky lets out. His book gets flung, his legs go everywhere, and it's a miracle that he doesn't fall off the chair altogether. "All right, all right!" he finally gasps, breathless with mirth, as he wedges his feet beneath Steve's thigh. "I give! Mercy!"

Steve's laughing at Bucky hard enough that every other breath is a wheeze, and he grins at the prince. "I _guess_ I could relent," he says breathlessly. "Though I was really enjoying tickling you; you've got a great shriek." 

"Fuck you," Bucky complains, grinning. "We'll have half the staff in here thinking I'm being murdered if we're not careful."

"Oh yeah, because I definitely saved you from the enemy just to murder you in the middle of a busy palace," Steve says sarcastically, laughing. 

"Nah," Bucky says. "You like me too much to murder me."

"Too much to murder," Steve agrees. "Not too much to torment." 

"Cruel," Bucky says with a put-upon sigh. "What have I done to deserve such treatment?"

"Nothing," Steve says with a grin. "I'm secretly a sadist." 

Bucky throws his head back and laughs. "It's always the quiet ones."

"Oh yeah, always," Steve says. "We watch and find your weaknesses."

Bucky's expression shutters and he looks away. "Yeah," he says, "I've noticed."

Steve watches Bucky curiously. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Bucky looks up again and makes an effort to smile. "Ignore me."

Steve smiles softly, reaching over to nudge Bucky lightly with his foot. "That'd be pretty hard to do," he says with a quiet smile.

Bucky huffs, and this time his smile comes a little easier. "I know the feeling."

* * *

Steve stretches, grinning to himself as he fetches his shirt from where it had ended up draped over a box of cleaning supplies in the closet Bucky had dragged him into. The sex hadn't been more than Steve sucking Bucky off and then pressing him up against the shelf as Bucky jerked him off, but damn if it hadn't been satisfying all the same. 

A glance at Bucky shows that the prince is getting dressed, although he seems to be struggle to button up his shirt again one-handed. "Here," Steve says, reaching out without thinking. "Let me help." 

Bucky is quick to flinch back, his cheeks flaming. "Don't," he snaps. "Jesus Christ, I'm not completely helpless."

Steve blinks, pausing. "I know you're not," he says carefully, "but considering I helped get it off, I thought I'd offer to help you put it back on." 

Bucky huffs, clenches his fist, looks away. "I know," he says. "I'm sorry. I just-- I _hate_ it."

Steve carefully reaches out to lay his hand on Bucky's right shoulder. "I understand," he says quietly. "I'm sorry for upsetting you." 

Bucky shakes his head, still not meeting Steve's eye. "It's not your fault," he says, and reaches for his buttons again. "I'm used to doing things by myself."

"Well," Steve says with a smile that he hopes is encouraging, "you don't have to do _everything_ by yourself now." 

"Why?" Bucky asks, the ghost of a smile on his own lips. "Because I have my knight in shining armour to help me?"

"Not just me," Steve says lightly, leaning forward to brush a kiss over Bucky's lips. "But I'm certainly not averse to being your knight." 

Bucky hums softly, chases Steve's lips to claim another kiss, and lets his hand drop from his shirt. "I guess I could use a little help," he admits.

Steve smiles. "All right," he says, giving Bucky one more kiss as he does up the buttons. 

It's clear that Bucky isn't completely comfortable with letting Steve help, but he allows it without further complaint and presses himself back into Steve's arms once he's done. "You got anything you need to be doing right now?" he asks sweetly, his lips against Steve's jaw.

"Buck, we just got dressed!" Steve protests, though he's laughing as he turns his head to meet Bucky's lips with his own. "No, I don't have anywhere to be." 

"I'm not trying anything," Bucky laughs. "I'm just not ready to let you go yet, is all."

"Well, I suppose I can spare a few more moments," Steve teases. 

Bucky grins. "Come to the library with me," he suggests. "Let's just curl up together and read a book and pretend we're _normal_."

Steve smiles. "All right," he agrees. "I'd love to." 

* * *

Steve looks up with a raised eyebrow when Rebecca comes storming into his study a few evenings later. "What's wrong?" he asks, taking in the stormy expression on her face. 

"This stupid dinner," Rebecca huffs, flopping down into a vacant chair. "It's completely pointless, and it's going to be _awful_."

Steve makes a face. "Yeah, it probably will be - no one interesting is supposed to be there." 

"No one important except for Lady Sophia," Rebecca reminds him, "which is the whole point of this ridiculous affair, no matter what Father says."

Steve frowns. "What do you mean?" 

"Father's hoping to set up a betrothal."

Steve's heart sinks, though he's careful to keep his expression neutral. "Oh?" 

Rebecca nods. "Lady Sophia has expressed an interest, and it wouldn't be a bad match," she says. "Of course, Bucky's probably going to screw it up."

"How so?"

"He's not exactly known for his diplomacy," Rebecca says. "He'll know what Father's up to; any excuse to rebel."

"Oh." Steve hesitates, then asks, "Does this happen often?" 

Rebecca sighs. "Daddy Dearest has been pushing Bucky to get married since he turned twenty. But this is the first time he's pushed quite this forcefully. Normally he just casually introduces him to girls at parties."

there's something tight lodged in Steve's chest, but he does his best to ignore it. "Does Bucky usually brush them off?" 

Rebecca nods, watching Steve closely. "Most of the time," she says.

"So this whole dinner is basically an arranged date, then," Steve surmises. "Do you know why your dad's so desperate for him to marry?" 

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Rebecca asks. "If the heir to the throne is all settled down and ready to start making new heirs before he even thinks about taking the throne. The people are more likely to accept _that_ Bucky as their future king than the Bucky who still gets drunk and dances on tables and sleeps around."

Steve frowns. "There's nothing wrong with having some fun, and he'll settle down when he's ready; besides, your father should be around for a while yet." 

Rebecca shrugs. "That's all I know," she says. "You'd have to ask him if you want an insight into the inner workings of his mind."

Steve shakes his head. "All right, well, how do I need to dress for this, and what can I expect?" 

"Smart slacks and a nice shirt, tie, jacket on the back of your chair," Rebecca says. "It won't be anything like the banquet we had for you, and you won't be the centre of attention, so just eat and try to keep the conversation light. Don't talk about politics or religion."

Steve nods. "I'm guessing I'll be seated next to you?" 

"As long as that's okay?"

Steve gives Rebecca a smile. "Of course it's okay." 

Rebecca smiles back. "We all know how stupid this is," she says carefully, "except for my father. Bucky's never anything more than polite to these girls. He'll do enough to get through the dinner, and then he'll make it clear that he's not interested."

Steve nods. "All right; at least he shouldn't cause a scandal," he says with a slight smile, trying to ignore the twisting of his stomach at the thought of watching Bucky be polite to this girl - though he consoles himself with the knowledge that at least he'll blow her off in the end. 

* * *

For all Rebecca's worries, the dinner is actually going well. Bucky is being nice to Lady Sophia, the king is being well-behaved, and for once attention is directed away from Steve and Rebecca's 'relationship'. If only Steve himself wasn't so obviously troubled, and could manage to keep his eyes away from Bucky and Lady Sophia for more than thirty seconds at a time.

"Are you okay?" Rebecca asks him at last, ducking her head and speaking softly so that no one else can hear her.

Steve barely manages to keep himself from jumping. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just - not used to seeing Bucky like this." 

Rebecca glances at Bucky then, just in time to see him laughing at something Sophia said, touching her arm as he leans in to respond. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything," she offers, though it sounds weak.

Steve glances at Rebecca, then focuses on his plate, shrugging as he starts picking at his mostly-ignored food. "Why should it matter to me if it means anything?" 

Rebecca hesitates, looking unsure. "Steve," she says after a beat, "I--" She's cut off by another peal of laughter, this time from Lady Sophia.

"Oh James," she titters, "you really are something else."

"Please," Bucky responds, a grin in his voice, "call me Bucky. All my closest friends do."

Steve hides his expression behind a hasty bite of lobster. "At least he's having fun." 

Bucky turns his head then, and catches Rebecca's eye. She shoots him a warning look and pointedly rests her hand on Steve's arm, ignoring the way Bucky's eyes widen. "Pay him no mind," she tells Steve. "Talk to me."

Steve gives Rebecca a grateful smile. "All right. How's fundraising for your charity going?" 

* * *

Bucky seems to tone it down after that, the king and queen too busy talking to Lady Sophia's parents to notice, but he's still friendly and a little flirty, and he still pulls Sophia off to one side when the dinner starts breaking up. Rebecca watches him go, Steve beside her, and touches his arm. "Talk to him," she suggests. "Sophia won't be here for much longer."

Steve gives Rebecca a look, but when all she does is nod encouragingly at him, Steve gives in. "All right. When she leaves." 

Rebecca smiles at him, and when it's clear that Bucky and Sophia have tired of each other's presence she hastens to intervene, and shoots Steve a meaningful look as she escorts Sophia from the room.

Steve takes that as his cue to make his way over to Bucky, offering the other man a smile. "Hey," he says. "How'd the dinner go?" 

Bucky smiles. "Pretty well. Sophia's great."

"Yeah?" Steve asks. "You uh, seemed pretty cozy." 

Bucky smirks, and lowers his voice. "Jealous?"

"Maybe," Steve mutters. "But I know why your dad invited her, and you were _flirting,_ can you blame me?" 

"Steve," Bucky says, alarmed. "I couldn't just ignore her."

"I know, I just - " Steve sighs. "I'm sorry. I know you couldn't ignore her. But did you have to flirt so much?" 

Bucky has the decency to look apologetic. "This is the first girl he's put in front of me since he told me he knew," he says. "I had to make it look like I was trying.'

"Oh." Steve honestly hadn't thought of that, and now he feels like a dick. "I'm sorry, you're right." 

Bucky takes a furtive look around, and steps forward so he can reach out and catch Steve's hand. "Hey," he says softly. "Should we go upstairs and talk about this?"

"Probably," Steve says with a bit of a laugh. "This probably wouldn't look good to your dad." 

Bucky nods, gives Steve's hand a little tug. "Come on," he says. "They can do without us for five minutes."

Steve just follows, not trusting himself to speak until they're safely away. "I'm sorry; I don't really have any reason to be jealous." 

Bucky sighs. "I think that maybe you do," he says. "But even though I wish it was different, it _can't_ be like that for us. I can't sit with you at state dinners and laugh with you and touch you like I just had to with Sophia. I can't look at you the way that _you_ were looking at _me_ tonight, no matter how much I might want to." He hesitates. "Maybe this is just too much."

Steve looks at Bucky with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I like you," Bucky says. "I really like you. But this isn't gonna get any easier."

"So we work through it," Steve says. "We don't give up at the first sign of difficulty." 

"I'm thinking of you, here," Bucky says, a sharp edge to the words. "We're not just waiting for my dad to die so that we can come out. I'll have to get married before then, _have kids_. I'm dragging my feet as much as I can, but I'm running out of time."

"I know, and I don't care," Steve retorts. "Look, we'll find another way. There has to be some way this can work." 

"Work _how?_ " Bucky asks. "What is it you actually want?"

"You," Steve says. "I just want you."

Bucky's breath catches, and the look he gives Steve is so sad. "You can never have all of me," he says.

"I'll take whatever you can give me," Steve says quietly. 

Bucky shakes his head, but when he looks at Steve a rueful smile has made its way onto his face. "Well," he says. "Right now I can give you a kiss?"

Steve smiles, stepping closer. "Of course you can." 

Bucky laughs and reels Steve the rest of the way in, wrapping his arm around Steve's neck and pressing in close for a kiss.

"Prince James? Are you up here?"

Steve and Bucky spring apart, putting distance between themselves just in time for the servant to pop his head into the room they're standing in. The servant, thankfully, doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. "My apologies," he says, giving a slight bow. "But Lady Sophia is preparing to make her departure." 

"Thank you," Bucky says. "We'll be down in a minute." The servant leaves the room, and Bucky shoots Steve an apologetic look. "Duty calls. Later?"

Steve nods. "Of course," he says with a slight smile. "I'll see you later." 

* * *

The king seeks Rebecca out after Sophia's departure, Bucky and Steve already sequestered away somewhere in the depths of the palace, and finds her hovering in the drawing room. She smiles when she sees him, invites him to sit while she pours him a cup of coffee. "So, dinner went well."

"It did," the king agrees, pleased. "It's good to see your brother behaving himself for once." 

"He seemed to get be getting on with Lady Sophia," Rebecca agrees. "I'm sure they'll be good friends."

George snorts. "I'm hoping for a bit more than 'friends.'" 

Rebecca gives him an indulgent smile. "Father," she says, "you can't force these things."

"Yes, I can; it's called an arranged marriage."

Rebecca actually laughs. "Yeah, okay," she says. "Can you imagine? Bucky would pitch a fit!"

"He might, but he would accept it in the end," the elder Barnes says, tone confident. 

"Father," Rebecca says, her eyes widening. "You can't be serious. Arranged marriages are completely archaic!"

"Well, you don't see him doing anything about it, do you?" George counters. "He needs to get married and start producing heirs." 

"You can't force him!"

"And why not?"

"Because-- because he won't do it!" Rebecca cries. "The more you push him, the more he'll push you away."

"I'm only looking out for this country's best interests," the king snaps. 

"And what about your son's interests?" Rebecca demands. "Do you care about those?"

"The interests of an individual - particularly a _royal_ individual - are irrelevant."

"Stop it!" Rebecca cries. "Bucky's lost, can't you see that? He doesn't need a king! He needs his _dad_."

"I am his king, first and foremost, and he is an adult who must learn to live with the consequences of his actions," George retorts. 

Rebecca gets to her feet. "Whatever he's done," she says, "he doesn't deserve to be miserable for the rest of his life."

George studies his daughter intently; she's always been a little bit of an enigma, his eldest child. Still, in the interest of fairness, he asks, "Why do you think he would be miserable?"

Rebecca sighs. "You can't forcibly remove someone's agency and expect them to thank you for it," she says. "Bucky _wants_ to be king. He'll do what you ask of him. But he needs to do it in his own time."

"Which he is running out of," George points out irritably. "I will not be around forever."

"Exactly," Rebecca says. "Bucky will have to rule for decades after you've gone, and if you force him to marry he'll have to live with the life _you_ chose for him for just as long. Do you want the last emotion he feels towards you to be resentment?"

"I would rather the future of the kingdom be secure," George says. "What Bucky feels for me will not matter in the long run, and I will be dead and gone, and long past caring."

Rebecca sighs, and shakes her head. "Bucky will make a great king, Dad, because he learned from the best," she says. "It's just sad that you can't trust him to secure the kingdom's future on his own."

Silence falls between them then, unbroken for several long, tense moments. Eventually George sighs and stands, pausing only long enough to say, "I will consider what you've said," before leaving.

It's the best a king can promise.

* * *

Several days later, the city sees its worst storm in years; it rages badly enough that most of the city loses power, although the castle is powered by several backup generators. Steve finds Bucky in a corner of the library during the tail end of the storm, and frowns at the expression on his lover's face. "Hey," he says, taking the chair across from the prince. "I'm guessing the trial didn't go well."

Bucky sighs, and reaches for Steve's hand. "Depends how you look at it," he says. "I'm not being blamed for what happened. At least, not officially."

"But unofficially?" Steve prompts gently, taking Bucky's hand. 

"I'm being royally fucked over, if you'll excuse the pun." Bucky tries to smile, and fails. "I'm being promoted to Major. Which sounds great, but it also means that if these peace talks fall through, or we go to war against anyone else, I'll have a nice, comfortable desk to sit behind right here in the capital, where it will be impossible for me to humiliate my family and my country again."

"Oh," Steve says quietly. "Well that's stupid." 

"Yeah," Bucky says. "But there's nothing to be done; if I complain, I might lose my position altogether, and then what will I be? A king who got kicked out of his own army. Yeah, right."

Steve sighs. "Rock and a hard place, huh?" 

"You said it." Bucky looks at Steve then, really looks at him, soft and beautiful in the warm light of a nearby table lamp, and finally manages a smile. "I'm glad you're here."

Steve smiles back, giving Bucky's hand a squeeze. "Me, too," he says sincerely. 

Bucky's smile brightens, and he squeezes back. "Well," he says, "this is fucking depressing. I'm sick of hanging around the palace. Is it still raining out?"

"The storm's pretty much quit," Steve answers. "Most of the city doesn't have power though." 

"Awesome," Bucky says. "Bet there'll be a rave on somewhere."

Steve grins. "Wanna get out of here?" 

"Fuck yes."

So they go outside, and it's unlike anything Bucky has ever seen before. The storm has certainly passed now, and in the aftermath the city, so often flooded with light and life, is not deserted by any means, but it's different. Dark, but not pitch black; busy, but quiet. There are people everywhere, little clusters of them on street corners or sitting on the steps of buildings, their faces illuminated by candlelight and laughter as they talk amongst themselves. Some, Bucky suspects, are friends - but it's clear that most of them are talking for the first time, sharing in this strange but nonetheless breathtaking experience together.

It makes Bucky jealous.

"Come on," he says to Steve, turning away from the nearest group. "There's someone I know who will definitely be taking advantage of this. His club is just down here."

"All right," Steve says, going easily even as he's distracted by this new view of the city; he's never heard it so quiet before. 

They make it a fair way towards the city's club district unimpeded before Bucky, used to keeping his head down in the busy, well-lit streets, walks smack into someone in the darkness. "Shit!" he hisses, and then remembers himself, his station, his whereabouts. "I'm so sorry, I--"

"Hey, watch your step," the girl snaps, glaring at Bucky, though she doesn't appear to recognize him. "Just cause the power's out, don't mean you can run into people, jerk." She leaves before Bucky can respond. 

Bucky stares after her, and then turns to Steve, excitement burning through his veins. "She didn't know who I was."

"She didn't recognize us," Steve says wonderingly.

Bucky looks around then, _really_ looks, and his heart begins to race. For the first time in his life, no one is looking at him. He's used to being mobbed by paparazzi, by the media, by the public as soon as he sets foot outside of the palace. But tonight, no one sees him; no one cares. He could be anyone.

He could be free.

"Steve," he whispers. "I don't think I want to go to that club anymore."

Steve smiles at the expression on Bucky's face, even as his heart breaks for the same reason. "Yeah? Where do you want to go?" 

"Can we just--" Bucky gestures to the streets around them. "Walk around? Be?"

Steve's smile widens. "I'd love that." 

Bucky smiles back and, as a couple passes them without so much as a glance in their direction, decides to be brave. "Hey," he says. "Give me your hand."

Steve does so without hesitation, squeezing Bucky's hand lightly. "Good?" 

Bucky nods, resists the urge for another nervous glance about them. "Good," he says.

"Great," Steve says warmly, stepping closer so he can walk right beside Bucky. "Let's go." 

They wander through the city for almost an hour, taking their time and enjoying the anonymity the darkness is giving them. This is something Steve never thought he'd get to have with Bucky, something they won't get again, and he's going to make the most of this opportunity. When they haven't seen anyone for several minutes, Steve pulls Bucky to a stop, moving so he's facing the prince. "Hey," he says quietly. "I want to do something." 

Bucky gives Steve a smile that is at once inviting and shy and intimate. "Be my guest."

That's all the invitation Steve needs to press in close, bringing his free hand up to cradle the back of Bucky's head as he presses a soft kiss to Bucky's lips.

A thrill courses through Bucky, and he wastes absolutely no time in deepening the kiss, running his tongue along Steve's bottom lip until he relents and their tongues touch. It's not desperate, it's not dirty or obscene; it's everything Bucky has never dared to dream he could have, right here in the middle of the street, holding the man he--

He pulls away, breathing fast, and there's no trace of fear in his eyes when he says, "I think we should get off the streets."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, breathless - that was one _hell_ of a kiss. "Yeah, I - Do you know a place?" 

For the first time that night Bucky hesitates, thinking about the hotel he used to take all of his hookups to, including Steve - but that won't do. Not tonight, he realises, a slow smile forming. "Yeah," he says. "I know the perfect place."

* * *

Bucky doesn't take Steve to a hotel room or to a fancy penthouse suite; he takes him to an apartment building, perfectly humble and inconspicuous, and leads him up to the third floor. They come to a stop outside of an unassuming door, and Bucky finally lets go of Steve's hand so that he can stoop and retrieve a key from underneath the gnome on the floor. "Don't look at me like that," he laughs as he straightens up. "We're not breaking in. Come on."

Steve grins, walking into the apartment. It's nice; small but cozy, and neat enough that there's clearly a regular maid service. "This is your place?" 

"Yeah," Bucky says, with a small, secret smile. "I don't come here a lot, but no one knows I have it. It's nice to escape sometimes."

"It's a nice place," Steve muses, "but I don't think you brought me here to admire the decor." 

"No," Bucky agrees, smiling as he approaches Steve. "I didn't."

"Well then," Steve says, smiling as he closes the distance between them and wrapping one arm around Bucky's waist, "what did you bring me here for?"

"I came here," Bucky says, kissing Steve's lips, "to do this," his jaw, "and this," his neck, "and this."

"Yeah?" Steve says, voice rough as he easily submits to Bucky's kisses. "Is that all?"

Bucky responds by sinking his teeth into Steve's earlobe, sucking on it gently. "What do you think?"

Steve hides his smirk in the crook of Bucky's neck before dragging his teeth over the skin there, biting down too lightly to leave the mark he so desperately wants to put there. "I think I want to do a _lot_ more to you."

Bucky moans softly and nods, his hand falling to Steve's waist so that he can pull him closer. "Bedroom," he sighs.

"Good idea," Steve murmurs; he pauses for a moment, considering, and then decides _Fuck it,_ and hauls Bucky into his arms, wrapping the brunette's legs around his waist. "Which way?"

Bucky laughs into Steve's mouth, holding on tight though he's never felt safer. "First door on the right."

Steve follows the directions obediently, pausing to indulge in a long-time fantasy of holding Bucky up against the wall and kissing him hard - not exactly what he'd fantasized about, but they had all night to get to that - before taking him through the door and laying him out on the bed he finds there, following after. "Nice bed - think we can put it to good use?"

"If you quit your yappin'," Bucky teases, his eyes alight with mischief and desire.

Steve grins. "Why don't you come up here and make me?"

"So demanding," Bucky sighs, but he fists his hand in Steve's shirt regardless and pulls him in for a searing kiss.

Steve goes easily, falling into the kiss the way he wishes they could in the palace. Here, though - here, they don't have to keep an ear out, don't have to be on watch. Steve intends to take full advantage of this, and after the kiss goes on for a long, mind-blowing moment, he reaches for the hem of Bucky's shirt, tugging lightly in a question. 

"Yeah," Bucky breathes, pulling back to give Steve room.

Steve lifts Bucky's shirt off without hesitation, pressing in for another kiss once the fabric's out of the way. He lifts one hand then, letting it hover over Bucky's left shoulder and the mass of scar tissue there as he pulls back, searching Bucky's gaze. "Can I?" 

Bucky shivers though the apartment is anything but cold, and his breathing hitches, becomes shallow. "Steve..."

"Whatever you want," Steve says quietly, "I'll respect." 

Bucky actually starts to shake, but as soon as he notices it, he forces himself to stop, close his eyes and take a breath. "Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

Steve's first touch to Bucky's scarred and mutilated shoulder is light, testing instead of tentative; when Bucky doesn't show any sign of rescinding his permission, however, Steve lets himself lay his hand over Bucky's shoulder, taking in the uneven texture there. "This okay?" he asks in a murmur, needing to know that Bucky's okay with Steve paying this much attention to the hurt area. 

Bucky's own hand finds Steve's waist, pushes his shirt up so that he can touch skin. His eyes are wet when he meets Steve's gaze, but he nods.

Steve pauses long enough to strip off his own shirt, leveling the playing field between them a bit. "You can touch me as much as you want," he reassures Bucky before gently returning his hand to its previous position, this time running his fingers over the still-visible scar lines where the doctors had sewn his skin back over the bone and muscle of his shoulder. Without stopping to think about it, Steve leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the skin. 

Bucky makes a strangled sound, his hand tightening where it's skimmed up Steve's body to grip his shoulder. "Steve," he breathes. "You don't--"

"Don't what?" Steve asks, pulling away only the minimum distance needed to speak. "Don't need to acknowledge this? Don't _want_ to?" 

" _Steve_ ," Bucky says again, and he sounds wrecked.

"That is my name," Steve teases, not moving his hand from Bucky's shoulder. 

It breaks the tension, and Bucky huffs, shoves at Steve's chest before pulling him back. "It's weird," he insists, the laughter in his voice doing nothing to hide the vulnerability in his eyes. "It looks--"

"It looks like a reminder of how brave you are," Steve finishes. "You got that doing your best to save your men." 

"I got it failing," Bucky argues.

"You tried, and that's the most important thing," Steve says firmly. 

Bucky laughs and looks away. "No one's said that before."

"Well, I'm saying it now," Steve replies, moving so he can press a kiss to Bucky's temple. "I'm proud of you." 

Bucky sighs softly and lets his eyes close, relaxing into Steve's touch. "I believe you," he murmurs.

Steve smiles, shifting again so this kiss lands on Bucky's mouth. "I love you." 

Bucky's eyes snap open again. "You do?" he asks.

"Yeah," Steve confirms. "I do. I love you." 

Bucky grins, breathless and beautiful, and pulls Steve in for another kiss. "You're the only person I've ever brought here," he confesses.

Steve gets what Bucky doesn't say, and his answering grin is blinding. "Well, I'm glad to be your first visitor."

"Me too," Bucky murmurs, kissing Steve again. "Me too."

* * *

When Bucky wakes up the next morning, the first thing he notices is that Steve is also awake, and is watching him. Bucky laughs, pleased, and wiggles closer so that he can steal a good morning kiss. "Creeper," he says affectionately, eyeing Steve's ridiculous bed hair with no small amount of pride or adoration. "You got nothing better to do than watch me sleep?"

Steve grins, giving Bucky another kiss. "Not this morning, no," he says. "And I only just woke up." 

"Looked that way," Bucky teases, but it's clear he isn't complaining. "You were looking at me like you love me just now."

"Well that's because I do," Steve says easily, smiling. 

Bucky grins. "That's convenient."

"Isn't it though?" Steve asks, laughing as he leans in for another kiss. "The power's back on, by the way." 

"Is it?" Bucky asks, twisting in Steve's arms. Sure enough, the digital clock on the bedside table is blinking at him in expectation. He sighs. "Awesome. Guess that means we have to return to reality."

Steve grimaces. "Yeah, it probably does," he says regretfully. 

Bucky groans. "I'll check your phone if you check mine?"

"Deal," Steve says, reaching for the device in question. 

They switch phones, and Bucky is still smiling as he turns Steve's on - but that smile quickly slips off his face when the home screen loads. "Holy crap," he says, sitting up in bed. "You have like twenty missed calls."

"You've got double that," Steve says worriedly. "And seven texts from Rebecca - Oh. Oh fucking hell, Bucky. Look." 

"What?" Bucky asks - and then the whole world collapses around his ears. "Oh my god, no."

"Yeah," Steve says hoarsely as he stares at the screenshot Rebecca sent Bucky. It's a tabloid cover, but that doesn't make the photo on it any less real - or the implications less disastrous. 

The picture is of the two of them, wrapped up in each other, kissing like they're the only two people in the world. Except that they clearly weren't.

"That's-- How--?" Bucky starts to wheeze, but he's cut off when his phone starts to ring in Steve's hand. Bucky suddenly feels very faint. "It's my father."

Steve mutes the ringer and flips the phone facedown on the bed. "This is huge," he says, concerned. "I know you didn't want to come out yet - " 

"Didn't _want_ to come out _yet?!_ " Bucky cries. "Wasn't _going_ to come out _ever!_ This is a _disaster_ , Steve, we're both screwed!"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks, confused. "People are a lot more tolerant now - " 

"I can't believe you're saying this," Bucky says. "We've talked about this! You _know_ why this means the end for me. You said you understood."

"No, you're right, I'm sorry," Steve says hastily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But the fact is that photo's out there now, and we can't take it back." 

Bucky shakes his head, but he doesn't look angry; he just looks scared. "I can't believe this is happening," he says. "I don't know what to do."

Steve scoots closer to Bucky, reaching out to tentatively lay a hand on the other's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, okay?" he says quietly. "We'll figure it out."

* * *

But they don't; when they finally have no choice but to return to the palace, they have no more answers than they did when they first woke up, and it's with a heart full of dread that Bucky gets out of the cab that picked them up outside of his apartment.

He's mobbed by reporters as soon as he straightens up, and it only gets worse when Steve gets out behind him.

"Prince James! Prince James!"

"Did you spend last night with Captain America, Your Highness?"

"Captain Rogers! Is Prince James your lover?"

"How long has this been going on, Captain?"

"Your Highness, how do you think Princess Rebecca felt when she saw the news this morning?"

"How does it feel to have slept with both the royal children?"

"How does it feel to have broken your sister's heart?"

"Are you gay, Prince James?"

"Prince James! Captain America! Prince--"

A guard slams the palace doors behind them, thankfully silencing the clamour outside. Bucky looks around, half-blind from the cameras, expecting to see his family, more press, anyone - but there's only Reginald, his face carefully blank. Bucky feels sick.

"Captain Rogers," Reginald says politely, without looking at Bucky, "the king urgently requires an audience with you. Right away, if you're amenable."

It's not really a request, and they all know it. "Of course," Steve says, affecting the most polite manner he can summon. 

"And what about me?" Bucky asks, a little desperate. "Does he not want to see me, too?"

"No," is Reginald's answer. "You've been summoned to your mother's chambers."

Somehow that's worse.

* * *

Winifred is waiting for Bucky in the sitting room, her gaze fixed on her tablet when her son walks in. "Sit," she orders, pointing to the chair across from her. 

So Bucky sits, anxiety churning in his gut and creeping up his throat. "Mom--"

"Don't," the queen says sharply. "You - _Why?_ What were you thinking?" 

"What was I _thinking?_ " Bucky asks with a strangled laugh. "I wasn't, clearly."

"Clearly," Winifred snaps. "Do you have any idea of the media storm you've unleashed with this - this - this _fling?_ " 

Bucky sighs, knows there's no point in lying now. "I'm sorry that this is such a mess," he says. "I didn't want you to find out this way; I didn't want you to find out at all. But it's not a fling, Mom."

Winifred goes very still. "Not a fling?" she asks, tone careful in a way that suggests Bucky had better think about his next words carefully. 

Bucky does think carefully, but he doesn't lie. "Steve and I are together," he says. "We're in l--

"James Buchanan Barnes, don't you dare finish that sentence," Winifred snaps. "I have put up with your shenanigans, you're young, it's only to be expected, but I will _not_ allow you to throw away your future like that." 

Bucky stares at her. "You _knew?_ "

"I suspected," his mother says bluntly. "But you are the Crown Prince, James - you can't marry another man, even if you claim to be in love." 

"Why not?"

"Because you're royalty, and you have a duty to your kingdom," the queen says wearily. "A duty that you cannot ignore, or pass on to your sister. There are expectations you must meet, and you cannot fail in that. You're young, you'll get over this, and eventually you'll marry someone for the good of the kingdom - someone who can provide you with heirs - and eventually you'll be content with her, if nothing else." 

Bucky is too stricken to respond to that for a long moment, and when he finally finds his voice again, it comes out hoarse. "Dad is going to give the crown to Rebecca," he says. "Can I be who I am then?"

Winifred gives him a pitying look. "Unless he fully disinherits you, no." 

"Mom," Bucky says, his eyes glistening. "Please. Steve is-- he's everything."

"He can't be," she says shortly. "Not to you." 

Bucky swallows against the lump in his throat. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"You do what members of royalty have been doing for centuries: You accept it."

"And if I can't?"

Winifred meets her son's gaze steadily; her heart breaks at what she sees there, but she doesn't waver. What he's implying, it's not something that can be allowed, not something she approves of, no matter how much she might want her children to be happy. "Then you know what the consequences will be." 

Bucky looks down, but when he meets his mother's gaze there's a fire in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Well that's too bad," he says, getting to his feet. "Because I love Steve, and I can't be king of a country that won't accept that."

"It's not that the country won't accept it," the queen sighs. "It's that your father and I won't." 

"Which is worse," Bucky snaps. "But you can't see that, can you?"

Winifred shakes her head. "Believe what you will, but you know what must be done," she replies. "If you don't want to turn your back on your country, that is." 

"My country doesn't need _another_ monarch who lies to it," Bucky says. "You and Dad have done enough of that." He leaves the room without another word, and goes in search of Steve.

He doesn't find Steve, but his father finds him. "James," the king snaps, every inch the ruler of the country. "A word." 

Bucky makes no move to go to him. "Where's Steve?" he demands.

"Gone," the king says shortly. "He left shortly after you two came back." 

" _What?_ " Bucky feels sick. "What did you say to him? Where did he go?"

"I didn't have to say anything, and he didn't say where he was going," George answers coldly. 

"He just _left?_ You expect me to believe that?"

"Believe it or not, the reality is that he is gone."

"Yeah, because you made him," Bucky insists. "He wouldn't just leave me. Why did you want to see him?"

"To explain some things; he made the decision to leave on his own, James, when he realized what, exactly, the consequences of his - _your_ \- actions were," the king answers. 

Bucky grits his teeth. "I don't care about the consequences," he says, "and once Steve knows that he won't, either. Don't think this is over."

* * *

Except that Bucky hasn't been able to contact Steve for almost a week, and he's starting to think that maybe it is. Steve didn't even come back to get his stuff; he just sent word to the palace and Reginald packed up his things and sent them away. Bucky slipped a note into one of the boxes, figuring that maybe since calling wasn't working he should try a more traditional approach, but he still hasn't heard a thing. Steve can't have given up on them as easily as it seems, can he?

Bucky gets his answer a week to the day after the picture first hit the headlines, when he comes downstairs for breakfast and Rebecca isn't fast enough hiding the newspaper she's holding under the table. "What was that?" he asks. "Was that Steve on the front page? What does it say?"

Rebecca’s expression is unsure as she slowly returns the newspaper to its former place; not unsure of the answer to Bucky's question, but of the reaction to that answer. "I'm sorry," she says quietly as she turns the newspaper around so Bucky can see. "I thought - I'm sorry." 

Bucky sees the headline, and then snatches the paper off the table so that he can scan the story itself. "What the fuck," he says quietly. "What is this? This isn't true!"

Rebecca shrugs helplessly. "I don't know," she says. "I thought you and he were... Dad's already seen it, and so has Mom." 

The king chooses that moment to join them, and Bucky rounds on him. "What the hell is this?"

George raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was rather self-explanatory." 

"That kiss," Bucky says, low and dangerous, "was _not_ a publicity stunt."

"Obviously you misunderstood," the king replies, eyes narrowing. 

"Misunderstood?" Bucky repeats, incredulous. "We were together for months before this!"

Everyone goes still at that. "You’re lying," the king says, his voice low and dangerous.

"No he’s not," Rebecca says softly. 

Bucky shoots her a desperate look. "You knew?"

Rebecca nods, but can’t quite meet his gaze. "Yes."

The king's focus switches to Rebecca. "What are you talking about?" he demands. 

"Steve and I have been together for months," Bucky repeats. " _Why_ would he do that if all he wanted was to make a name for himself?"

"People do crazy things for fame," the king says, though there's something odd in his tone; it disappears with his next words: "Like going on a suicide mission to rescue a captured unit."

Bucky stares at him. "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying," George answers. "And you know what I have to do; you disobeyed me."

Bucky glares at him. "You knew that anyway," he says. "I know Mom told you what I said that day."

"She did, and I've been getting things in order since then," George says coolly. 

Bucky clenches his fists, and decides to try one last time. "Father," he says. "I _fell in love_. How can you punish me for that?"

"I can punish you for falling for a _man,_ " he spits. 

"Do you see him?!" Bucky demands, and his voice shakes. "It's _over_. If what that paper says is true, it never began to begin with."

"I see the paper, I believe it - but that doesn't change what _you_ did. What you are: a disappointment, and unfit to rule."

"No!" Bucky cries. "I am _not_ unfit to rule just because I'm different from you!"

"It doesn't matter; it's already been decided," the king says harshly. "You're no longer the heir to the throne."

Rebecca hisses in a sharp breath beside him, but Bucky doesn't make a sound. He knew this was coming, of course he did, but it still hurts all the same. "Dad."

"Consider yourself lucky I didn't disinherit you," George says bluntly before he leaves the room. 

Bucky hovers, feeling like a tightly-coiled spring, unsure what to do. Finally, he looks at his sister. "I love him," he says. "I really thought that he..."

Rebecca's expression is so sympathetic, it's almost pitying. "I guess he didn't," she says quietly. 

Bucky can't look at her after that, can't even stand to be in her presence. "I guess," he says. "I'll be in my rooms."

"Bucky - " 

But he's already gone. 

* * *

Rebecca's kept busy for the next week thanks to her new position as heir to the throne, so she rarely sees Bucky except in passing. She finally gets time and courage to visit him in his rooms, and hesitantly knocks on the door. "Bucky? Do you have a minute?" 

"Yeah," Bucky calls back, without looking up from his task. "Come on in."

Rebecca carefully opens the door, trying to prepare for anything, but she's still taken aback by what she sees inside. "What are you doing?" she asks hesitantly as she looks around. Bucky's room is - _sparse,_ in a way she's never seen it before. 

"Packing," Bucky says. "I'm leaving."

"You're leaving?" Rebecca repeats, eyes wide. 

"I can't stay here," Bucky says. "I can't look at Mom and Dad every day and know that they despise who I am, and they've made it perfectly clear that they don't want to look at me either. So I'm leaving."

Rebecca bites her lip, but nods. "Okay," she says quietly, because she understands; she's horrified by their parents' treatment of Bucky, but she can't do anything about it. "Do you want help? Where are you going?" 

"No, and I don't know," Bucky says. "I've got a car and everything I need, and that's all I care about. I just want to be gone."

Rebecca nods again. "I'll cover for you as long as I can," she offers. 

Bucky still won't look at her. "Thanks."

Rebecca sighs. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." 

"What for?"

"Everything?" Rebecca says with a humorless laugh. "Mom and Dad being assholes, me opening my mouth and making things worse, not standing up for you, take your pick." 

Bucky sighs. "I don't blame you for any of that," he says.

"But?" Rebecca says encouragingly; this is the most Bucky's said to her in days. 

"There isn't a but," Bucky says. "I don't blame you. I blame them. And Steve."

Rebecca sighs. "Fair enough," she replies. "Are you going to try to find him?" 

Bucky would laugh if he thought anything about this situation was funny. "No," he says. "He's made it perfectly clear he doesn't want to be found."

Rebecca sighs. "If you want answers about why he stabbed you in the back, I wouldn't trust the man who took away your birthright," she says quietly. 

"I don't need answers," Bucky says, and he almost believes it. "You saw that article, you read what he said. He hasn't come running out of the woodwork to tell me it's all lies. That's all I need."

Rebecca dares to close the distance between them to lay a hand on Bucky's shoulder, drawing him into a hug. "Maybe he hasn't been allowed to," she suggests. "I heard the way he talked about you, when he was telling me about the guy he was interested in, and when you got together. It wasn’t difficult to work out who he meant, but he didn’t know that, so he had no reason to lie." 

Bucky hates himself for how badly he wants to believe her. "I wouldn't even know where to look," he admits.

"Maybe start with his mother?" Rebecca suggests thoughtfully. "Explain that you just want to know the truth; I thought she seemed like a reasonable woman." 

Bucky sighs and draws back. "You really think it's worth it?"

"I think you deserve the truth," Rebecca says gently, smiling. "And if Steve turns out to be a cold-hearted dick, we can ruin him." 

That surprises a laugh out of Bucky. "Why are you helping me?" he asks, has to ask. "Mom and Dad think I'm the scum of the earth."

"You're my brother," she answers, like it's the most obvious answer in the world. "And I know what it's like to fall for someone you shouldn't." 

"Steve did mention something about that," Bucky admits. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Rebecca says. "We're fine, just worried about you." 

Bucky offers her a weak smile. "I'm sorry if you being made the heir has screwed things up for you," he says. "If I could, I'd--"

"No, don't," Rebecca interrupts. "It was always going to be hard, we knew that. What's done is done, and I don't want you worrying about me, okay? It's time you worry about yourself, and about _your_ happiness." 

"Even if it's with another man?" Bucky asks.

"Even if," Rebecca agrees. "You deserve to be happy, and anyone who judges you because of the gender of who you're happy with is an asshole." 

Bucky lets out a harsh breath, and snatches Rebecca back into a tight hug. "I love you, sis," he says roughly.

"I love you, too," Rebecca says, returning the hug just as tightly. "Now go find Steve, and kick his ass if necessary." 

* * *

It takes Bucky a few days to get his head on straight and to make sure that his parents aren't sending people after him, and then he takes Rebecca's advice. He doesn't expect Steve to be here, but as he sits in his beat up little Ford and gazes at Sarah Rogers' house, he's filled with dread all the same. What if he is here? What if Sarah slams the door in his face? What if she laughs and tells Bucky that everything the papers say is true?

The uncertainty isn't doing him any favours, but Bucky knows that if he doesn't do this it will kill him. So he gets out of his car and approaches the door, knocks with his heart in his mouth.

Sarah's been expecting some kind of visit from the royal family, but she hadn't expected who actually came. "Bucky," she says, surprised. "Come in; what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Steve," Bucky answers as he steps hesitantly into the house. He'd half expected Steve to be sitting on the sofa, but Bucky's heart sinks as he realises there's no sign of him. "I get that he doesn't want to see me, but I was hoping..." He trails off. Hoping for what, exactly?

Sarah frowns slightly. "I don't know what exactly happened," she says slowly, "but I know that Steve does want to see you. He's out with Sam and Clint right now, but he should be home soon. You're welcome to wait here." 

Bucky's eyes widen. "He's here?" he asks hoarsely. "He's been staying here?" If Steve doesn't want to be found, why would he go to the first place Bucky would look?

Sarah nods. "Yes; he's been here ever since he was kicked out of the palace." 

" _Kicked out?_ "

"And ordered not to contact them," Sarah confirms. "He didn't tell me much, but I knew it had something to do with that tabloid picture." 

Not for the first time this week, or even today, Bucky feels like a rug has just been pulled out from under him. "I think I need to hear this from Steve," he says weakly. "Do you mind if I sit?"

Sarah's answering smile is sympathetic. "Of course," she says. "Take your pick; would you like something to drink?" 

"Uhh, tea, please," Bucky says. He wants coffee, but he doesn't think his nerves could handle it. "Thanks."

Sarah fetches it, handing the beverage over to Bucky easily. "He'll be home soon," she says reassuringly. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Bucky's just finishing his tea when the front door opens, and the hallway is filled with laughter. Familiar laughter - Bucky would recognise the sound of Steve's laugh anywhere, and his heart seizes in his chest.

"Told you I'd cheer him up, Mrs R," a voice calls, and a moment later Sam Wilson appears in the doorway. He freezes, and Bucky scrambles to his feet, and they stare at each other for what feels like an age. Finally, Sam shuffles awkwardly, and clears his throat. "Uhh, Steve? I think you'd better come in here."

Steve, who'd been in the entryway kicking off his shoes, darts into the living room, freezing when he catches sight of their visitor. "Bucky," he says, eyes wide and voice slightly strangled. "I didn't - didn't realize you were visiting." 

Bucky nods, feeling eight different kinds of awkward. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," Steve says, recovering. "Uh, here - we can talk in my room?" 

"Okay," Bucky says, with a wary glance at Sam. "Lead the way."

Sam and Sarah watch with an unreadable and encouraging expression respectively as Bucky follows Steve down the hall. Steve shuts the door behind them, and then turns to look at Bucky. "You look like shit," he observes. 

Bucky barks out a sharp laughs. "Thanks," he says. "You look..." _Amazing. Like the best thing I've seen in weeks._ "Good."

Steve shrugs. "I don't look that good," he says with a humorless laugh; he knows what he sees in the mirror every morning. "Why are you here?" 

A question that Bucky has no hope of answering fully, even if Steve gave him all week. He settles on, "I needed to see you. I want to understand."

Steve's mouth twists. "Understand?" he asks, though he has a feeling he already knows the answer. 

Bucky feels sick. "What happened between us," he says. "Why you left; why you haven't called. Why we were together in the first place."

Steve sighs. "I didn't call because I wasn't allowed to," he starts. "When we got back, your father called me to meet with him, and he essentially told me if I knew what was good for me and if I gave a damn about you, I'd get out and wouldn't look back. He gave me no choice about it, and I thought maybe if I listened he wouldn't do what he'd threatened to." 

Bucky shakes his head, disgusted. "I hate him," he spits. "But that still doesn't explain the rest."

"I was asked about the photo, and I said it was a publicity stunt to try to get your dad off your back," Steve says. "But it wasn't, I want you to know that. I meant it when I said I love you - what we had, it was never a stunt, or a ploy for fame, or anything less than real." 

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, and reaches out until he can steady himself on the back of Steve's desk chair. "I wasn't sure," he admits. "I didn't want to believe it, but..."

"But everyone was telling you to?" Steve guesses. "I'm really sorry I didn't respond - not even to the note - but I was trying to make things as easy for you as possible with your dad." 

"Well," Bucky says, folding his arm defensively over his chest, "he took the crown from me anyway."

"He did _what?_ " Steve asks, horrified. "Why?" 

"Because I tried to fight for you," Bucky says, an edge to his voice that's razor-sharp. "Before and after I knew you were gone. And they made it perfectly clear that being with you, whether you were using me or not, meant I'd forfeited my right to the crown."

"Those bastards," Steve swears. "Seriously? Your mom, too? Rebecca - she didn't, did she?" 

"No," Bucky concedes. "She's the reason I'm here. But my mom and dad?" He laughs, harsh and humourless. "The king and queen have no tolerance for _deviancy_ in their family."

"Well fuck them," Steve says harshly. 

"Yeah," Bucky says. "It's going to make things difficult for Becca, but." He shrugs. "Honestly, I'm glad it's over. As soon as Rebecca was named the heir I got the hell out of there."

Steve's expression softens, and he steps forward. "Good," he says. "Not that you lost the crown, but that you got away from them." 

Bucky takes a deep breath. "I'm not going back," he says, and it sounds like a warning. "I'm _never_ going back."

Steve nods. "I don't blame you." 

Bucky swallows, searches Steve's face. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, your dad kicked me out, and you left," Steve says. "Maybe we should band together." 

Bucky offers him a soft smile. "You'd want that?'

"Yeah," Steve says, answering smile just as soft. "I would." 

"I don't have a plan," Bucky warns him. "I have no idea where I'm going, and I only have money until my father cuts me off."

"Plans are overrated, and that's what jobs are for," Steve answers. 

Bucky sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. "I'm saying it's not going to be easy," he says. "And if you're not sure about this, if you don't want... us, then I'll understand."

Steve follows his gut, stepping forward until he can place one hand on each of Bucky's shoulders. "I'm sure," he says with conviction. "I want this, Bucky - I've wanted it for a while, and if you want it too, then I say we give this a chance." 

"I want it," Bucky says quietly, starting to smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Steve replies, mouth curving into a half-smile. 

For the first time since he got here, Bucky finally starts to let himself relax. He breathes out a soft sigh, the smile that's still playing about the corners of his mouth finally blossoming into something beautiful, and then he fists his hand in the front of Steve's shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

Steve goes easily, sighing softly when his lips meet Bucky's. They move together with ease, despite the recent separation and tension, and when they pull apart, neither one goes far. "I love you," Steve murmurs without thinking. 

Bucky just grins. "I love you, too."

Steve blinks, eyes wide, and then breaks into a grin. "That's the first time you've said that," he says happily. 

Bucky's laugh is short and self-deprecating. "I know," he says. "I thought that if I actually said it, it'd feel so much worse when you left. But, I don't think that's actually possible, so."

Steve sighs. "I wish I could've stayed," he says quietly. "But I honestly thought it'd make things easier for you with your dad." 

"I get it," Bucky says, "but I don't care about my dad, or the crown or any of that. All my life I've been surrounded by people who I knew would never accept me, and I thought I was okay with that. I _was_ okay with that. But not anymore."

Steve nods. "Well, I'm proud of you," he says with a smile. 

Bucky smiles back. "Thank you," he says. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Steve answers, leaning in for another kiss.

Bucky gives it to him readily, but his smile quickly fades when they break apart, to be replaced by an anxious twist to his mouth. "I don't know how long I can stay here," he admits. "Whether it's my father or the press, someone's going to come looking for me sooner or later, and this is the first place they'll look."

"Then stay here for a day or two, and we can use that time to plan," Steve suggests. 

Bucky nods, grateful. "As long as your mom's okay with that."

"She will be, but we can go ask," Steve says, reaching down to take Bucky's hand in his. 

Bucky squeezes, holds on like he never wants to let go. "Yeah, let's."

* * *

Sarah is more than happy to lend them Steve's room for however long they need it, and that night after dinner Steve approaches Bucky again. "So," he starts, a little hesitantly. "Have you thought about what you want to do?"

"A little," Bucky admits. "I want to get as far away from the palace as possible, for starters."

Steve smiles. "I like that plan. Got room for some company?"

Bucky grins. "I guess you could tag along."

Steve returns the grin. "So, what are two vets supposed to do when they don't want to draw attention from the royal family?" 

"They keep moving," Bucky answers with a sigh. "Harder to hit a target if it won't stay still."

Steve nods understandingly. "So why not a road trip?" he suggests. "Have some fun with this." 

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Bucky says. "I guess it's a little unrealistic to hope to stay out of the public eye forever."

"We're both too popular to go unrecognized," Steve agrees. "But we can try for as long as possible." 

"When the press does catch up with us," Bucky says, steeling himself, "I don't think I want to hide what we're about."

Steve smiles, reaching for Bucky's hand and tangling their fingers together. "Neither do I," he confides. 

Bucky smiles back. "Think there's room for more than one gay icon in this relationship?" he teases.

"Well, I'm bi, so there's definitely room for a gay icon," Steve answers, grinning. 

"You're funny," Bucky says, pulling a face. "But I wouldn't quit your day job just yet."

"Screw you, I'm hilarious," Steve retorts. 

"Uh-huh," Bucky says, "keep telling yourself that."

* * *

Miraculously, it takes a month for Steve and Bucky to hit the headlines - and as soon as they do, Rebecca takes her iPad into her mother's office and waves it in her face. "Have you seen this yet?" she demands. "Has Dad?"

"Yes, we have," the queen says, expression grim and a bit pinched. 

"Oh my god," Rebecca complains. "What did he say?"

Winifred sighs. "Things that I don't care to repeat," she admits. "He's considering disowning James entirely."

Rebecca folds her arms. "And what do you think?"

"I think your father is overreacting, but I also don't approve of James's choices."

"His _choices?_ " Rebecca repeats. "Mom! He loves Steve."

"And he chose to flaunt that in the public eye," Winifred retorts. "You know what your father and I think of those kinds of... _relationships._ "

"He's your son," Rebecca says, "and he's not the heir anymore. Why can't you let him be happy?"

"He may not be the primary heir, and unless your father does decide to disown him, he is still part of this family and his actions impact us," Winifred answers. "We have a reputation to uphold."

Rebecca rolls her eyes. "A reputation for being intolerant bigots?" she demands. "What about all the people in this country who are like Bucky, who look to our family for support and guidance? What are they going to think when you condemn Bucky for this, and they realise he's being punished for something that neither he nor they can help?"

"Those people are not the majority," the queen says sharply, "and I am done discussing this with you." 

"Mom," Rebecca says. "Bucky needs us. _Your son_ needs you."

"James is a full-grown adult, and he knew the consequences of his actions," Winifred answers. 

Rebecca sighs. "Fine," she says. "But just so you know, you may lose both of your children over this."

Winifred's expression goes pinched once again, but she doesn't reply as her daughter leaves. 

* * *

A week and a half later, Steve receives an email from Rebecca that makes his eyes go wide. "Bucky," he calls, not looking away from his laptop's screen. "Bucky, come here; I've got something you need to see." 

"What?" Bucky asks, moving to Steve's side. "Is that from Rebecca?"

"Yeah," Steve answers, tilting the screen so Bucky can read it. "Look what she was tipped off about." 

Bucky scans the email quickly, but then has to read it again. "He did _what?_ "

Steve's expression is sour. "If you're seeing something about the king arranging the attack on and abandonment of your unit, then you're reading the same thing I am." 

"But..." Bucky sounds strangely childlike as he sinks down onto the bed next to Steve. "Is-- is she sure? Because my dad, he wouldn't... I nearly _died_."

"All she says is she trusts her source," Steve answers, slipping an arm around Bucky. 

"But he's my _dad_ ," Bucky moans. "How could he do that?"

Steve sighs. "I don't know," he admits, rubbing Bucky's shoulder comfortingly. "But if this is true, we can't let it stay hidden." 

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks. "I don't want to see him _or_ Mom ever again. They can rot for all I care."

"A lot of your men died," Steve says quietly. "And you know what those who were captured went through. They deserve justice." 

"Then Rebecca can go after it," Bucky says, but he sounds less sure.

"If it goes to trial, you'll be called to testify," Steve points out gently. 

"It'll never go to trial," Bucky says, with bitter confidence. "No one is stupid enough to take legal action against the _king._ "

"I'd be stupid enough," Steve says thoughtfully. "If you agreed, I mean. I'm visible, popular, and if I say something, the people will listen. Not even the king is above the law, if enough people call for an investigation. And face it, the people like you, too; if they find out your own father arranged your capture, there's going to be a lot of people on your side." 

But Bucky's shaking his head. "I don't know," he says. "I don't-- I can't think about this right now, Steve. My own father almost had me _killed_."

"We don't have to decide anything right now," Steve soothes, giving Bucky a squeeze. "This is huge, I know." 

Bucky nods, grateful. "Can we just, go to bed?" he asks. "I don't want to think right now."

Steve smiles gently. "Yeah, we can go to bed," he says, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple. 

Bucky sighs, chases Steve's lips until he gets a proper kiss. "I love you."

Steve smiles. "I love you, too," he murmurs into the next kiss. "Now let's sleep." 

* * *

The next morning finds Steve and Bucky quiet, both absorbed by their own thoughts. They don't really speak until that afternoon, when they're in the privacy of their hotel room. Steve's the one to break the silence between them. "I've been thinking." 

"Thinking," Bucky repeats, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "About?"

"About what we're going to do," Steve answers. "About what the king did." 

Bucky sighs. "What about it?"

"If you really don't want to do anything, then we won't," Steve starts with. "But I think we should." 

Bucky sighs. "What exactly are you suggesting we do?"

"We get an outside source to investigate," Steve explains. "It needs to be someone who has very little to gain from either outcome, but if he did this to his own son, what else might he have done?" 

"Who are you going to find that isn't either a monarchist or a revolutionary?" Bucky asks.

"There are a few international organizations created specifically for situations involving countries' leaders," Steve points out. "We can go to them." 

"And say what?" Bucky asks. "Do we have any proof?"

"We have the reports from your court martial; that _all_ of your backup vanished, the enemy was waiting, and Rebecca says her source recorded the conversation they heard," Steve answers. "So we hand that over, ask for an official investigation to determine the truth. We go right over the king's head, don't let anyone know that we were the ones that asked for it until they've started." 

Bucky nods along, but he still looks unsure. "Do you really think we should?"

"I think we need to know the truth," Steve says. "The whole situation has never really felt right to me; if it was arranged, then that would explain a lot." 

"That's not what I meant," Bucky says. "My dad hates us now, but that's nothing compared to the hellfire he'll rain down on us if we do this."

"I'm willing to face that if you are."

Bucky bites his lip while he thinks, his eyes going glazed like he's looking at something far away. At last, though, he looks up. "I think you're right."

Steve's expression is gentle, his tone careful, "Yeah?" 

"Yeah," he says. "I can't let this go out of fear or some stupid sense of loyalty for a father who _clearly_ couldn't care less about me. People died; my men _died_ , and the rest of us walked away with scars that will never heal. He can't get away with that."

Steve moves to pull Bucky into a hug. "We'll make sure he doesn't." 

Bucky goes willingly, melting into Steve's embrace. "He'll never forgive me for this," he says quietly. "But then, I suppose there's a lot he won't forgive me for."

"Well he's a bag of dicks, and can go fuck himself," Steve says decisively. 

That surprises a laugh out of Bucky, and he hides his smile in Steve's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

Steve smiles as well, arms tightening around his boyfriend. "I'm not going anywhere." 

* * *

They follow the plan, turning in all of their evidence to Interpol, who promptly launches their investigation. When word gets out that the _king_ is being investigated for treason, the press goes wild. Three weeks after the investigation is launched, Interpol finally grants permission for a press interview. Bucky declines going on live, national television, but Steve steps up, more than ready to go to bat for the man he loves. "Your Majesty," he says, polite if stiff, when he comes face-to-face with Bucky's father for the first time in months. 

"Captain," the king says stiffly. "I'm surprised to see you here instead of my son."

"I imagine you'll be one of the few," Steve says quietly. "After all, what son wants to breathe the same air as the _father_ who tried to have him killed?"

"You have no evidence of that," the king says quickly. "No _real_ evidence, or I'd be in jail right now, instead of having my face powdered before I go on the television."

"I have his word, the word of his men who were also captured, and Interpol is finding the 'real' evidence," Steve answers, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Bucky has only ever wanted to please you, and you as good as ordered his capture and eventual execution. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you pay for that."

The king gives him a terrible smile. "Fortunately, 'everything you can' isn't an awful lot," he says. "I'm still the king - and who are you? A man whose influence comes directly from me. I built you up from nothing and I can strip you back down to nothing just as easily."

Steve isn't impressed. "No, you can't," he answers. "Haven't you seen the news? You aren't the only one who's built me up, and you're not the only one who determines my influence anymore." 

"We'll see," the king says smugly. "For now, I think our audience awaits."

Steve inclines his head. "I believe it does." 

* * *

Afterwards, Bucky has the wherewithal only to turn the television off; he doesn't move other than that until Steve returns to their hotel room and finds him sitting on the end of the bed, probably looking as numb as he feels. "Hey," he mumbles, and turns to look at Steve. "That was a little different from your usual press conferences, huh?"

Steve pauses only long enough to kick off his shoes before coming to sit down next to Bucky, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, it was a bit different. I think it went well, though." 

Bucky sighs and leans into Steve gratefully. "You think so?"

"You saw his face," Steve says confidently. "He wasn't expecting us to have public opinion on our side, and the information from Interpol isn't looking good for him." 

Bucky sighs again, heavier this time. "I just want it to be over."

"I know," Steve says sympathetically, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky's temple. "Hopefully it will be soon." 

* * *

The media shitstorm rages for another two weeks before the king gets word to them that he wants to meet; Bucky can bring Steve, the king can bring no one, no press coverage, no lawyers or officials of any kind - just a talk, completely off the record. In that time Bucky has seen his sister some and caught only a glimpse of his mother, but mostly he's barely left the hotel, letting Steve handle all the publicity stuff. It's mostly because of this - boredom as well as guilt - that Bucky decides to take the offer. They're to meet King George at a public location of his choosing, selected based on its discretion rather than its sympathies, and hear what he has to say.

Bucky's completely calm until the cab drops them outside of the bistro, and then he grabs Steve's hand, troubled eyes looking up at him from beneath the baseball cap he'd grabbed just before they left the hotel. "Why did we agree to this again?"

"Because we thought it'd be a good idea to at least see what he wants," Steve answers, giving Bucky's hand a squeeze. 

Bucky sighs. "Let's just get it over with."

Steve gives Bucky's hand another reassuring squeeze. "Let's go." 

They find the king seated at one of the furthermost tables from the door, in a darkened corner with a newspaper open right in front of his face. "Subtle, Dad," Bucky quips as he and Steve take the seats opposite him. "You know that's upside down, right?"

"It's not as though anyone were actually looking back here," the king answers snippily. "I am pleased to see that you two are able to be punctual, at least."

Bucky glowers at him. "Whatever," he says. "We're not here for the good of our health. What do you want?"

"I want to make you both a proposal - something I believe could be very beneficial to all of us."

Bucky glances at Steve and then back to his father. "Go on."

"I'll cut right to the chase," the elder Barnes says. "If you drop this investigation, then I will reinstate Bucky as the heir, and return you, Steve, to your former position."

Bucky's jaw hits the table. "You're serious?" he demands.

"I wouldn't offer if I weren't," his father answers testily.

"I don't know why you think we'd take it," Bucky says, surprisingly calm. "You'd wait just long enough for everything to go back to normal and then blindside us with more homophobic bullshit and stop us from being together. And that's not even mentioning how you'd get away with all the shit you've done, shit you _deserve_ to be punished for."

"Surely you realize by now that this investigation, regardless of what the decision is regarding my guilt or lack thereof, is not actually going to make a difference," the king laughs. "I am offering a chance for you to bow out gracefully, and have a chance to do some meaningful work."

Bucky lets out a harsh breath, staring at his father in disbelief. "You're not even going to offer, are you?" he asks. "You're not going to say that you'd let us be together."

The king raises an eyebrow. "I forbade you from pursuing this relationship before you both were removed from the palace, and you ignored me," he points out. “My stance has not changed.”

"Then how can you expect me to accept this?" Bucky asks, and he sounds hurt beyond words. "What you're offering, it's... meaningless."

"I am offering you your life back," George says stiffly. "Can you truly say that you are happy in the world as you are now?"

" _Yes_ ," Bucky says. "But you can't say the same, can you?"

"You were taught long ago that those of royal blood do what they must, regardless of their feelings on whatever the matter may be."

"As far as I'm concerned that's no longer my problem," Bucky says. "If being a royal means being like you, I want no part of it. Steve and I are happy as we are."

"You mean you're both perfectly happy living like _perverts_?" the king hisses. "How could you - either of you - be happy like that?"

"We are _not_ perverts," Bucky snarls. "You say that again, we're gonna have a problem."

The king glares right back at his estranged son. "I don't know why I thought you two _faggots_ would know when to accept that you're beaten," he hisses. 

Bucky is up in a flash, grabbing his father by his shirt and dragging him out of his seat only to slam him into the wall just behind it. "You don't speak about me like that," he growls. "You don't speak about _Steve_ like that. Even if we could help you, I wouldn't. I wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire. Do you understand me? It's _over_ , and so are you."

The king opens his mouth to speak, but Steve just shoots him a glare and puts his hand on Bucky's arm. "We won't be accepting your patronizing offer, and we won't be dropping the investigation," he says firmly. "Come on, Buck - he's not worth it."

"I ought to kill him for what he said about you," Bucky says darkly, but he lets go of his father and takes a step back, nothing but disgust on his face. "I hope you rot in hell."

Steven doesn't say anything; he barely even looks at the king as he takes Bucky's hand and leads them back out into the sunlight. "Well that was more than a little frustrating," he says dryly. 

"Fuckin' _nerve_ ," Bucky spits, furious. "Who the hell does he think he is, talking about you like that? I should go back in there and knock him out."

"And if you do that, it'll just cause more trouble," Steve reasons. "Look, I don't like what he said either - about both of us - but the better revenge is going to be ripping everything he cares about from him."

"You think we can actually pull it off?" Bucky asks, sounding more enthusiastic about the concept than he has since he first agreed to let Interpol go after the king.

"Yeah, I think we can," Steve says with a smile. "He wouldn't be trying to make a deal with us if he didn't feel threatened."

"I want him off that fucking throne," Bucky seethes as he and Steve start walking back toward their cab, which they paid earlier to wait for them. "I want him in _jail_. Becca won't thank me for it, but there it is."

"You're right, she won't," Steve admits as they climb in. "But she'll understand."

"I hope so."

* * *

The king was right to feel threatened; as the next few weeks pass, the noose tightens around his neck a little more each day. Once the legal proceedings begin, things move quite quickly. Bucky is called to testify, as well as Steve and the other men in Bucky's team who survived the attack, and he's as honest as he can be, especially when the questioning begins to focus on his relationship with his father, and his father's views on his sexuality. Even without Bucky's testimony, the evidence gathered by Interpol against the king is as damning as it is extensive, and by the time their final day in court rolls around, they all know that a sentence will be delivered alongside the verdict.

The night before, someone knocks on the door of Bucky's and Steve's hotel room. Expecting the room service they ordered twenty minutes ago, Bucky answers wearing only loose pyjama pants, and instantly regrets it. He doesn't think his sister has seen him shirtless since before he lost his arm. "Becca," he says. "Come in."

Rebecca, to her credit, only glances at Bucky's scarred shoulder before refocusing on his face. "Thanks," she says as she steps inside. "I just wanted to talk; is Steve here?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, "he's just in the bathroom."

Rebecca nods. "I was hoping I could speak to you alone," she says, a bit hesitantly. 

Bucky looks surprised, but he nods. "Sure," he says, "okay," and then louder, "Steve! I'm going out for a little while, okay?"

Steve calls back his assent, along with an admonition to be careful, and Rebecca can't help but smile. "I'm glad you two are happy together," she offers.

Bucky smiles back. "Me too," he says. "Let's go down to the bar; I'll buy you a drink."

Rebecca follows her twin from the suite and down to the bar, waiting until they've got their drinks before she speaks again. "So, we're coming up on the end of the investigation," she says, playing with her margarita glass. 

"Yeah," Bucky says. "I'd like to say I'm sorry it's come to this, but... I really can't."

"I don't blame you," Rebecca assures Bucky. "But I think maybe I have a proposition that you might like."

"Okay," Bucky says slowly. "Go on."

"Once our dad no longer has the crown, I'm essentially in charge," Rebecca explains. "I've never really wanted to be, and you did - you were raised and trained for that. If you still want to be in charge, I can pass the crown to you."

Bucky pauses with his own margarita halfway to his lips, and then sets it down so abruptly that a little sloshes over the sides. "You-- Becca," he says. "I know you weren't raised for this, but you'll make a great queen."

Rebecca smiles. "I appreciate the thought, but you were still the one meant for this," she says. "I know how much you wanted the crown - it's your birthright."

"But I let it go for a reason," Bucky reminds her. "I've walked away from all of that, and I'm _happy_ now."

"And if you don't want this, then I'll go on and accept the crown, and you can stay out of the royal life," Rebecca promises. "But I figured you should at least have the option."

Bucky sighs, runs his hand through his hair. "What about you?" he asks. "This guy you're seeing. Is you being queen going to fuck that up?"

Rebecca's mouth twists into a wry grin. "If I'm queen, there's not a whole lot of people who can tell me no," she says. "Either way, Leo and I are still going strong, and we're preparing for any outcome."

"Leo?" Bucky asks, a surprised smile lighting his face. "It's Leo?"

Rebecca smiles. "Yeah," she says happily. "It's Leo."

"That's great, Becks," Bucky says, grinning. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," Rebecca laughs. "But I didn't come here to discuss our love lives, Bucky."

Bucky sighs, reaches for his glass again. "But that's what it comes down to, isn't it? I gave all of this up for Steve as well as myself, and I don't regret it for a second; I don't know what will happen to us if I try to take that back."

"I'm not expecting an answer today," Rebecca assures Bucky. "Take your time, think it over, talk about this with Steve - you're right, you did get out for a good reason, but now that Father's going to be gone, I think you could be happy in the palace, too."

"Are you going to go public with Leo?" Bucky asks. "In either eventuality."

"We'd like to, yes," Rebecca says with a nod. "We don't want to hide anymore, and without Mother and Father around to yell at us..."

Bucky grimaces and nods. "I'll talk to Steve about it," he says. "But that's the best I can do for now."

Rebecca smiles, reaching over to hand a hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I just wanted to let you know that it's an option," she says. "No matter what you decide, I'll still be here for you, okay? You're my brother, and I love you."

Bucky grins. "I love you too."

* * *

Afterwards, Bucky can't really say for sure what happens. All he knows for sure as he walks out of the courtroom, Steve's hand in his and a million cameras in his face, is that his father is no longer king. He's guilty, and he won't be doing much of anything except rotting in jail for quite some time now. Bucky doesn't really know how he feels about that yet, about everything they've been fighting for finally coming to fruition in both the best and the worst possible way, so he lets himself feel numb as Steve pulls him toward the car waiting for them just beyond the throng of reporters, and then lets himself fall against Steve's chest when they're finally being driven away.

"Fuck," he says.

Steve just wraps his arms more securely around Bucky, pulling him in closer. "It's finally over," he says, hardly able to believe it himself. 

Bucky hides his face in Steve's chest. "Except that it's not," he mumbles.

Steve frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighs, runs his fingers over Steve's thigh. "Rebecca wants to give me the crown."

Steve's eyebrows fly up to his hairline. "Really?"

"Yeah," Bucky says. "She isn't insisting on it, but she doesn't want to be queen, she was never meant to be, and with Father off the throne it's her decision."

Steve's quiet for a moment. "Do you want the crown?" he asks quietly. 

Bucky's jaw works against Steve's shirt. "I... I was born to want it," he says. "My whole life, I've known I was meant to have it."

"You were," Steve acknowledges. "But things have changed a lot, especially over the past year or two. If you don't want it anymore, that's okay. And if you still do, that's okay, too."

"I don't know," Bucky admits. "It destroyed me when my father made Rebecca the heir. But I love you, and I've loved everything we've done since then. I don't want to give that up."

Steve rubs one hand up and down Bucky's back soothingly as he thinks. "We might not have to," he says. "I mean, not completely - without your father to say no, who's to say that we can't still be together if you took the crown? I'm not saying take it," he hastens to clarify, "because it's your decision. But consider all of the angles."

"This isn't just about me," Bucky reminds him. "If I take Rebecca's offer, you're right, I'm not going to go back into hiding. It's too late for that now. But that means I'm going to want you by side."

Steve smiles. "And I'll be there, no matter which way you decide," he promises. "I'm not going anywhere, not if I can help it."

Bucky sits up to look Steve in the face. "You've seen what that life can do to people," he says. "You've lived it. I won't do this if you're only agreeing to it for me. We have to both want it."

Steve glances away, marshalling his words. "I don't know that I want it," he says honestly, "but I do know that I want to be with you, and I want to make a difference in the world. That's something I can do anywhere now, thanks to everything that's happened. So if you want the crown, I'll be right there with you, ready to be there for you and support you however I can. And I'll do the same if you decide you don't want it, too. It doesn't matter to me where we are, so long as we're together."

Bucky smiles, touches Steve's face. "I love you," he says. "Whatever we decide, that's the most important thing."

Steve smiles back, leaning down to claim a kiss. "I love you, too," he promises. 

* * *

It takes Bucky three weeks to come to a decision, three weeks of keeping their heads down and avoiding the media shitstorm as much as possible. They barely leave their hotel room, too cautious even to make plans to get out of town, and ultimately Bucky is grateful for it. He approaches Steve one night after he gets out of the shower, Steve sitting at the desk drawing, and takes a breath. "I think I should accept Rebecca's offer."

Steve looks up from his sketchbook, expression questioning. "Yeah?"

Bucky nods. "She doesn't want it, she wasn't meant for it. She isn't ready." He pauses. "I am."

Steve smiles. "All right," he says. "When are you going to tell her?"

"Soon," Bucky says. "I wanted to run it past you first."

Steve nods in understanding. "Well, if you want to do this, you know I'll stand by you."

Bucky smiles, a small, playful thing. "Even as my Prince Consort?"

Steve's breath catches in his chest. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Bucky's expression softens. "Maybe."

"No take-backs," Steve warns as he moves into Bucky's space, pulling the other man into a kiss. 

Bucky laughs into the kiss, his hand on the small of Steve's back keeping him close when they pull apart. "Are you _sure_ that this is what you want?" he asks.

"I am," Steve promises. "I want a future with you; doesn't matter to me where it is."

Bucky grins, kisses Steve again. "Then I guess I should call Rebecca."

"Yes, you should," Steve says with a laugh and another stolen kiss. 

* * *

Bucky does call Rebecca, and when he's prompted to make an announcement at the next press conference, he's prepared. Bucky says that he has been offered the crown, but that he will only accept it if the country will accept Steve as his Prince Consort; he will not hide his relationship, he says. Not when none of the recent events would have been possible without Steve's support. The reporters go wild, but no other questions are asked, and within the week Bucky has his answer as to whether or not the country will support him: It's a resounding _yes._ Oh, there are the conservative naysayers, and the ones who say that this investigation was only launched because Bucky wanted the crown, but they are the minority, so few as to be safely discounted entirely.

The plans for the coronation are changed, and three weeks after accepting Rebecca's offer, Bucky is crowned King and he and Steve have set a date for their wedding, whereupon Steve will be officially named Prince Consort. The celebration after the official ceremony is relatively small, for a royal event, which turns out to be a blessing in disguise when Bucky's mother corners him while Steve is off shaking hands and fetching himself and Bucky another drink. "I hope you're happy," she hisses. "Destroying your family like this."

"I didn't destroy my family," Bucky responds through gritted teeth. "You and Dad did that all by yourselves."

"No, if _you_ had just done what you were _supposed_ and listened to your father, none of this would have happened!" the former queen snaps. 

"No," Bucky agrees. "I just would have been miserable and _hated_ myself, while you and Dad buried your heads in the sand and got people _murdered_ just because you felt like it!"

Winifred opens her mouth to retort, but just then Steve slides in next to Bucky, handing his fiance a drink before tucking one of his arms around Bucky's waist. "Winifred, good to see you," he says, voice carefully polite for all that it is a few decibels too loud. "I trust you're enjoying yourself?"

And now, with the eyes of all of the nearby guests on her, all Winifred can say is, "Of course. My congratulations to you both," and leave. 

Bucky smiles until their audience loses interest, and then turns to hide his face in Steve's shoulder. "Was she even invited?" he demands. "I don't remember fucking inviting her."

Steve sighs, running his hand up and down Bucky's ribs soothingly. "I don't know, but I'll find out," he promises. 

"She told me I destroyed my family," Bucky confesses quietly. "Like her and my dad didn't have a hand in it at all. How can she still support him, after everything that's happened?"

Steve just pulls Bucky in closer. "I don't know," he answers, because he really doesn't. "But she's wrong; you didn’t play any part in pulling apart the family, that's all on them. They set everything in motion before you had even an inkling of what was going on."

Bucky looks up sharply at that. "Do you think she knew?"

"There's no way to know," Steve says. "She might have, but she might not have, too. But her actions after everything went down are damning enough in their own right."

Bucky sighs and pulls away. "I can't wait to get out of here."

Steve lets him go. "I'm pretty sure we've almost filled the socializing quota for the night," he offers.

Bucky hums, his gaze on the crowd now. "It's been a nice day," he muses.

"Overall, yes, it has," Steve agrees with a slight smile. "Has it been worth it?"

"More than," Bucky says. "I'm finally free."

Steve's smile widens. "Yeah, you are. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Bucky smiles too, reaches for Steve's hand. "Feels amazing."


End file.
